Be Steele My Heart
by RSteele82
Summary: (Canon Series) Part 2 of 2 in the Be Steele My Heart series. Picking up where Holting Steele left off, after the lights went out in Ashford Castle, Laura and Remington journey through Greece, Cannes, London and LA as they settle into the new aspects of their relationship.
1. Chapter 1

Part 2 of the Be Steele My Heart Series.

Picks up directly where Holting Steele leaves off: after the lights go out at Ashford Castle.

Many, many thanks to my beta reader, friend and fellow Steele Watcher who volunteered hours upon hours of her time proofing round one of this story. As the characters and their story have evolved across Season's 4 and 5, so, too has Holting Steele and Be Steele My Heart.

It is my profound hope, you enjoy the many tweaks and many additions that were requested.

For the most effective reading, my work should be read in chronological order as many of my one off's are spun into the history of the characters later on down the line. The chronological order of what I've written are as follows:

Steele Torn & Trying to Holt On  
Cannes Steele be Trusted (co-written with the super-talented SuzySteele)  
Steele Mending  
Steele Working out the Details  
Steele Settling In  
Steele Finding Comfort  
Steele Holting on To Christmas  
Steele Holting on To The Holidays  
Holting on to the Moments  
Steele Cold Relief  
Steele Cloned  
Steele Hurdling Obstacles  
Steeling the Big Apple  
Steele Dying to Get it Right  
Holting Steele - (Part 1 of Be Steele My Heart)  
Be Steele My Heart (Book 1)

* * *

Prologue

Anthony Roselli lay reclining against the backboard of a double sized bed, contemplating his next move. In his mind, there were three matters to which to attend.

First, make Steele pay for turning him over to the local constabulary. He didn't give a rat's ass if Steele's plan had worked out exactly as intended: He was cleared of all charges of espionage, Finch arrested for those same charges and Kemadov, the key to both his freedom and Finch's conviction, safely ensconced under the watchful eyes of the U.S. Government after defecting. The bottom line was this: the double crossing piece of crap had served him up to the authorities with a great deal of enjoyment. It was an act for which he would pay.

Second, Roselli vowed, he would take away everything that Steele gave a damn about before he was done with him and would make sure the man watched him do it. While Steele had been an important part of his first plan – acting as a pawn to deliver top secret documents to a presumed spy, which in turn would allow Roselli to take back his place in MI5 while being exalted a hero – the man's use had come to an end. That Steele had proved to be a veritable pain in his ass, not buckling when faced with blackmail but instead making demands, only served to further his hatred. That Steele had managed to escape unscathed from his carefully laid trap, only increased his fury. Luck had been on Steele's side for far too long as far as he was concerned.

Third, there was Laura. He couldn't figure out what sway Steele held over Laura, but one thing was certain: he didn't believe the tripe she'd tried to sell him on the street in Galway, not for an instant. In his experience, no one held on for four years to see if something _might_ work out. Then there was the fact that Laura had clearly said 'I can't walk away now.' Not won't. Not I don't want to. But can't. As if something or someone was preventing her from doing so.

He needed to get Laura alone, to find out what Steele had on her. Together they could eliminate him from her life. But have no doubt, at the end of the day, Laura would be his. He'd cast aside Conchita, after years of work knocking her into shape, just for the potential of what he might have with Laura. He remembered the kiss on the train, her hunger for him; the kiss on the streets of Galway, her admission that she too felt what was between them.

First things first – once Laura was his, then he'd deal with Steele. After all, as the saying goes, he could kill two birds with one stone. Steele had made it more than apparent that in his eyes Laura was his. By freeing her from Steele, he'd not only get Laura but take a serious blow at the man at the same time.

With a smile, he picked up the receiver of the phone next to bed and dialed in a series of numbers.

* * *

 _ **"Hello?" a voice answered on the other end of the line.**_

 _ **"Well, they finally released me…."**_

* * *

Roselli bounded off the bed and ripping the phone off the cord that attached it to the wall, threw it into the wall across from him, gouging a hole into the drywall in the process.

"Damn him!" he screamed. He paced the room, his eyes reflecting the near insanity of his fury.

There he'd been, laying on the charm, thick, and she'd hung up on him! Twice! And clearly had now taken the phone off the hook.

Oh, he'd heard the loser Limey calling to her in the background. Clearly she'd decided that with him locked up, Steele would have to do. Out of sight out of mind, as the old saying goes.

Taking a deep breath, he opened and closed the fists held clenched to his side and tried to reel in his emotions. Panting in his anger, he concentrated on slowing his breathing. He reminded himself that Laura was left alone with Steele now, with no one to run interference on her behalf. Of course, she'd have to do whatever the man asked of her. No matter what else the man held over her, she'd be well aware that if their deception was confirmed by the INS, she could lose everything. She had no choice but to keep the man happy.

If he could only get to her, he reminded himself as he calmed, he'd be able to convince her that together they could free her from Steele's hold and then they could be together as he knew she wanted to be. He'd have to keep his anger under control, at least for a little while longer. Right now, what mattered was rescuing Laura.

Now, all he needed was a plan.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1: A Piece of the Past

Laura woke to the sunlight streaming through the bedroom windows. Stretching her body with catlike grace, she rolled over in search of Remington, only to find a pair of bright blue eyes assessing her with amusement from where he stood across the room.

"Mornin', love" he greeted her. A smile lit her face a she rolled to her stomach and she lay the side of her head on crossed arms so that she could watch him.

"Mmmmm," was her only reply to his greeting.

He was already showered and dressed, grabbing clothes out of drawers and closets and packing them in suitcases. Passing the bed, he reached out and smacked her bare fanny a couple of times. Laura, once more draped in his pajama top, sat up and pulled her knees up to her chest.

"Really Laura, I never knew you were so lazy, sleeping away the day like this," he teased. "You really better get a move on. Our plane leaves in two hours."

"Where are we going?" she asked, realizing he'd never told her.

"All in due time Laura, all in due time," he smiled in return.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and got out, heading to the bathroom.

 _Absolutely ravishing_ , he thought, watching her. He took a couple quick steps towards her, cutting off her path to the bathroom, and grabbing her around the waist drew her tight against him. Leaning down, he touched his lips to hers.

"Mornin', love," he repeated with a raised brow.

"Good morning," she replied smiling up at him impishly, then began rubbing herself against him. His body immediately hardened at her antics. Picking her up he set her away from him, boldly admiring the view. Lifting up her hand, he ran his lips across her knuckles.

"Oh, no you don't, Mrs. Steele," he admonished her playfully, "Your delicious plans will make us late for the flight. Go get ready, while I finish packing."

She laughed, then with a flip of her head, sauntered to the bathroom to take a shower, completing the task in record time. Stepping out of the shower with a smile on her face, she wiped down her body quickly with the towel laid across the warmer, then boldly walked out of the bathroom without a stitch of clothing on. Moving to the suitcase to pluck out an outfit for the trip, she silently laughed with pleasure as he caught sight of her and she watched his eyes darken with desire.

Unable to resist the luscious little body belonging to the woman intent on luring him into a morning tryst, he moved to her and folded her in his arms as his head dropped so that his lips could claim hers. Bending his knees, an arm swept under her legs and he carried her back to their bed. After laying her down upon it, he began to rapidly divest himself of his clothing before stretching out beside her.

"Well, I suppose we can always catch a later flight, Mrs. Steele," he murmured, as his lips descended to take possession of hers again. She laughed softly against his lips, then reached up her hand to brush that unruly lock of hair off his forehead.

"Mr. Steele, I think that is one of the best ideas you've ever had," she whispered huskily against his mouth, as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled his body down to press against her own.

* * *

Mickeline moved across the foyer to answer the persistent peel of the chimes indicating a guest at the door, while mumbling under his breath, "Ye'd think the Castle be on fire, the way they be goin' at it." Pasting a smile on his face, he swung open the door to find Anthony Roselli standing there.

"I'm here to see Laur…" Roselli paused, then forced Laura's official title at the Castle to cross his lips, "… her Ladyship. I believe she's expecting me," he prevaricated while adopting what he hoped would pass as a trustworthy look on his face.

"Ha!" a woman's voice rang out from somewhere behind Mickeline. Craning his head around the butler, Roselli saw Mildred dropping a suitcase and overnight bag on the foyer floor. Walking across the foyer, she swung the door open wide, planting her hands on her hips and glaring up at him. "Mrs. Steele is no more expecting you than she is a visit from the Easter Bunny."

Resisting the urge to grind his teeth before telling off the nosy old biddy, Roselli smoothed a charming smile across his lips. "Good morning, Mildred. Nice to see you again."

"It _was_ a good morning until you showed up. What do you want with the Missus?" she demanded to know in her no nonsense IRS auditor voice.

"As I told Mickeline, Laura's expecting me. I spoke to her last night after the charges were dropped and she asked that I come by this morning," he lied smoothly again.

"Look, I've got your number so don't even try pulling one over on me. Sniffing around after Mrs. Steele on her honeymoon, trying to cause trouble for the two of them the second you showed up. Uh uh. No more. Not on my watch. As I said, Mrs. Steele isn't expecting you," Mildred told him with narrowed eyes.

Roselli held up his hands, as though surrendering. "Look Mildred, I…"

"That's Ms. Krebs to you, Roselli," she corrected him firmly. Roselli battled back the urge to shove the old battle axe aside, and search out Laura himself.

"Alright, Ms. Krebs," he said, smile still in place but a sharp edge creeping into his voice, "I promise you, Laura _is_ expecting me. Just go ask her yourself."

"No can do," Mildred told him smugly. " _Mr. and Mrs._ Steele left this morning for an undisclosed location to honeymoon… _alone_ … and they won't be back. So, get lost, creep," she told him, gleefully slamming the door in his face and locking it behind her.

Next to her, Mickeline laughed along with her. "Never did like the man, meself. 'e is trouble I tell ye."

"That's for sure," Mildred agreed. "Thank goodness that's the last we'll be seeing of him! Join me for a cup of coffee before I leave for the airport?"

"It'd be a right pleasure, Mildred," Mickeline grinned.

Outside the door, Roselli seethed.

* * *

Five hours later, Remington and Laura stood on the bow of a ferry that was crossing crystal clear, blue waters. An arm was anchored on either side of her, as Remington leaned against the railing, keeping Laura tucked between him and it, his chin leaning comfortably on one of her shoulders. The gentle winds coming off the water ruffled his hair while showering them with a fine mist of salty water. He wanted to keep her close, so he could feel as well as see her reaction, when the ferry took its final turn.

He felt her body suddenly lean forward, heard her gasp of pleasure as the stunning view of the Calderas came into sight. "Greece," she murmured almost reverently. "I can't believe you brought me to Greece." He nodded his head against her shoulder where it rested.

"This is more than a country to me, Laura," he told her quietly. "Which is why I've never brought anyone here before now." She turned herself around in the narrow confines of his arms and the railing so she could look at him.

"What do you mean?" she asked, tilting her head to the side, her eyes filled with open curiosity.

"It's family, Laura. The only place, other than you, that I've ever considered home." Her breath caught and a palm flattened against his chest as the realization struck her.

"Marcos," she said almost reverently, drawing a wide grin from him.

There was a time, he remembered, where Laura would have been quite put out if one of the shady characters from his past had shown up, but, for the most part, she had come to accept that the life he had before her was perhaps colorful, but the people in it lived by a code of honor. While she had never met Marcos, he seemed to hold a special place in her heart, as he was the larger than life character in the first story Remington had truly told her about his childhood. He nudged her to turn back around, pointing to the Calderas in front of them.

"That's the village of Pano Meria, or Oia to tourists, straight ahead," he explained. "These days, Marcos and his family live in one of the captain's houses, which are built into the sides of the cliffs." He scanned the horizon, then pointed to a mansion jutting out from the calderas walls. "There".

"It's stunning….and perfect for a smuggler," she told him squeezing his hand. She had emphasized the word smuggler, with a lilt in her voice, making it sound romantic.

 _Baffling_ , he thought. _Smugglers and art thieves were romantic, and jewel thieves were nothing but dirty, conniving scoundrels_. He found himself wondering, not for the first time, how she decided which, err, occupation, was a romantic endeavor and which was a nefarious undertaking.

"So, we're going to meet Marcos?" she asked.

"Yes, and Elena, as well. Not to mention… well, you'll see. They'll all be descending upon the house the moment they hear the news," he laughed.

"What news?" she asked with another tilt of her head.

"Oh," he said casually, "that Xenos has returned home with the woman he plans to spend the rest of his life with. I imagine any number of bets will be won and lost over the next few days." Her eyes widened, focusing on the words he'd tried to casually slip in.

"Do you mean that?" she asked in a dazed voice. He laughed softly then nuzzled his cheek against the side of her head.

"I told you the day we wed that I intended us to be the happiest married couple in America, Laura. Now all I have to do is convince you of that." Brushing her hair aside, he placed a tender kiss on her neck.

She closed her eyes, her teeth gently nipping at her bottom lip, before she opened her eyes again to find the hand of the man she'd tried to run from for years. Wrapping his arm around her, she tucked herself close to his body, and said a prayer of thanksgiving that she'd finally realized it was time to stop running and start holding still, because as convoluted as their romance had been to date, it had certainly been one adventure after another. As the Calderas loomed closer before them, she couldn't help but wonder what came next.

"Did you rent a car?" she asked as the ferry approached the dock and they began walking, his hand pressed lightly against the small of her back, towards the departure area on the stern of the boat. He should his head in the negative.

"Marcos would consider that an insult. No, he's sending someone to meet us." Handing Laura her carry-on bag, he grabbed the two larger suitcases and followed her off the boat, putting down the suitcases to scan the nearby parking lot. A wide grin split his face, as he nodded his head in the general direction of one of several cars where people were awaiting the arrival of the boat.

"Come along, Mrs. Steele, our ride awaits," he told her, hoisting back up the suitcases and heading down the walkway towards the lot. A thought occurred to her as they walked.

"What bets will be won and lost?" Remington laughed aloud at her insatiable curiosity.

"My commitment to remaining free of romantic… entanglements… is legendary in Europe, which extends here to Greece as well. Given the number of foolish bets placed on my brothers, I'm sure the bounty on my head is considerable." Laura stopped in her tracks and stared at his retreating back. He'd made it a couple of steps before he realized he was walking alone and turned back to see what she was about. Laughing at the dumbfounded look on her face and her partly open mouth, he set down the suitcases and returned to her, touching two fingers under her chin and pushing lightly up on her jaw.

"Careful, love, you'll catch dragonflies," he teased. She blinked at his words, then distractedly corrected him.

"Flies. You'll catch flies." He shook his head at her, his grin widening.

"Not in Greece," he corrected her this time. She gave her head a shake, trying to clear her head.

"Brothers?" she asked, still trying to process the thought.

"And a sister," he answered, then laughed again when her eyes widened even further. He slid an arm around her back and nudged her forward. They'd made it two steps, before she stopped in her tracks again.

"Wait," she insisted, then turned to him. "How didn't I know this?" He shrugged.

"You never asked." His grin only grew more amused when her eyes narrowed.

"I seem to remember when Frances was driving me crazy after moving to LA last year that you told me, quite clearly, 'As far as I know, I don't have a sister,'" she pointed out.

"Semantics. Trust me, it will all become quite clear very shortly. So rest that lovely little mind of yours for just a little while longer and you'll have all the answers you desire and then some." Giving her another smile, he leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. "In the meantime, someone's getting quite anxious in the parking lot. Shall we forge on, so to speak?" She considered him for a few seconds then nodded her head.

Retrieving the suitcases he'd set down, they continued on to the parking lot, where a tall, burly, blonde haired man with deeply bronzed skin, awaited them.

"Xenos! Ti Kanis!" the man greeted Remington enthusiastically. Remington grinned and held out his hand.

"Mikos, it's been far too long," he answered holding out his hand, only to have Mikos grab the hand and pull him into a bear hug, releasing Remington with a couple of hearty slaps on his back.

"It certainly has, cousin, and I'm sure you'll be getting an ear full from Thea Elena," Mikos acknowledged, while picking up the suitcases and tossing them with ease into the trunk of the Mercedes-Benz limousine.

"Mikos, allow me to introduce you to, ummm…" Remington stumbled over how to refer to Laura, and ended up simply settling on, "… Laura." Mikos rounded the trunk to take Laura's overnight back from her, placing a quick kiss on either of her cheeks before returning to trunk.

"Welcome to Santorini, Laura," Mikos told her politely. She grinned with amusement as Remington opened the door to the limo and handed her in. She'd caught both Remington's stumble and Mikos' unspoken curiosity.

Sliding into the back seat, she moved over until, in that unassuming way of hers, she sat close to the other door. Climbing in behind her, Remington closed the door and reached for her hand and pulled softly. Taking the hint, she slid back over until their hips touched, and he stretched an arm around her shoulders while leaning over to buss her on the side of the head.

"Remember the rather daunting drive through the canyon during the Wayne case, when you were determined to prove to me that Wayne could have traversed those winding, narrow roads exactly as he claimed?" he asked her. She nodded as she tilted her head to the side to see him better and cast a puzzled look towards him.

"Yes, why?"

"The ride ahead of us will be similar except upward, especially with Mikos at the wheel. I just wanted you to be prepared," he grinned. Laura cast him a doubtful look but five minutes later, face carefully blanked, she squeezed his hand as Mikos navigated another harrowing curve at excessive speeds.

"Can't say I didn't warn you," he laughed. Her lips quirked upwards.

"No, I definitely can't say that," she answered with a laugh of her own. She maintained her grip on his hand until the car came to a screeching halt in the drive outside of a large house.

Remington got out of the car, first, then held door for Laura to alight. Although he'd kept up a running diatribe with Mikos about various people on the drive, he'd been silently arguing with himself throughout the dizzying car ride up the caldera. How should he introduce her to Marcos and family? His associate? No, no, that wouldn't work. His… errrr… girlfriend? He tried the word on his tongue and discarded it quickly. He and Laura had moved towards and away from each other in that dance of theirs for four years, and had never, once, referred to one another by such a term.

He'd still had not made up his mind when he knocked on the door, his arm on her side. He glanced down at her, and she momentarily stole his breathe away. She had gone all out when she'd dressed for the trip, having no idea where they were going. She wore a simple white linen dress, that wrapped around her and tied at the waist. The material billowed in the wind. The skirt was slit on either side well past the knee, and the neckline dipped low, yet revealed nothing. _Fodder for the imagination_ , he thought. The simple gold necklace with the heart charm he had given her lay at the base of her throat, worn only on what she considered special occasions, with a matching gold clip holding back her hair. _Positively delectable_ , he thought to himself, feeling himself beginning to stir at just the thought of getting her to the hotel and stripping her, until only his necklace remained.

The door to the house was thrown open, and a short yet large, tanned man in his 60's grabbed Remington up in a bear hug, lifting him from his feet, then pounded him heartily on the back. "Xenos!" he greeted Remington enthusiastically.

"Marcos, ti kanis," Remington smiled broadly, greeting Marcos as loudly as he had been greeted and returning the man's thumps on his back. "Oh, it is good to see you again."

Laura stood back watching the scene before her, grinning. She loved seeing Remington this relaxed, most especially after the difficult evening before. She assessed the two men as Marcos grappled with him. While he had only been a boy when Marcos had taken him in, he now stood several inches over his mentor.

Marcos spotted her over his shoulder. With a final clap on Remington's back, Marcos released the young man, then took a step back, giving Remington a speculative look before turning his focus upon Laura.

"And who have we here, Xenos?" Marcos asked, smile still planted on his face.

"Marcos, I'd like to introduce you to…" Remington began formally, then stumbled feeling oddly discomfited by his own formality born from the continued indecision on how to introduce her. Marcos gave him an appraising glance, knowing all too well that Xenos was in nearly all situations comfortable. _What the hell,_ Remington thought, _Let the chips fall where they may. It is, after all, what I feel her to be now._ Stretching an arm behind her back, he lightly lay his hand at her waist, looking down at her. "Laura, Marcos. Marcos, my wife, Laura."

Remington stood, shifting from foot-to-foot as silence ensued. Suddenly, Marcos burst out into joyous laughter and grasping either side of Remington's face, kissed him soundly on each cheek. Ignoring fully Laura's outstretched hand, he grabbed her up in a bear hug. She shrieked with laughter. Dropping her to the floor, he grabbed her shoulders and kissed her loudly on both cheeks as well.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," she laughed, a flush pinkening her skin as Remington stood to the side watching her with unmistakable pride.

Marcos ushered both of them into the house. "Elena, Elena," he bellowed happily towards the back of the house, over the music blaring inside, "Come. Come see who has shown up on our doorstep!"

A rotund, older woman maneuvered through the crowd towards her husband. In her 60's as well, her face was lined from years of smiling. Laura liked her immediately.

"Elena," Remington hugged her tight then kissed her on both cheeks. "Mou leipeis."

"You should come by more often," she said wagging her finger, chastising him, "then you would not have anything to miss!"

"Yes, yes. I'm sorry, Elena. I'll try to do better," he said pretending to be admonished, all but shuffling his feet.

"Elena, this news you will never believe. Our Xenos has brought his wife home to us!" Marcos chortled.

The older lady clapped her hands over her mouth, her eyes filling with tears of joy. She reached out to touch Remington's cheek, "Oh, Xenos, at last love has found you, despite your attempt to evade."

Nodding soberly, Remington reached behind him and grabbed Laura's hand. "Elena….Laura." Laura glanced at him, his grin wide… he seemed…. Proud.

Elena walked up to Laura and took both her hands in her own. She said nothing, only looked Laura up and down, from head-to-toe, then stood looking in her eyes. Laura gazed directly back at the woman, sensing this was important. At last, the older woman broke her stare and with a smile lighting her face, reached up and patted Laura gently on the cheek. She turned to Remington. "You have done well, Xenos. She has a kind heart, your Laura."

Remington nodded his head, his eyes keeping with Elena's. "That she does, Elena," he agreed solemnly, leading a beaming Laura to link her arm through his own.

Marcos threw back his head and let out a deep, loud laugh, straight from the belly. "Come, come, Xenos and Laura. Tonight… tonight we celebrate!" Remington laced his fingers with Laura's as they followed Marcos across the room. Handing each a small glass of clear liquid, he clapped his hands loudly, before picking up his own glass of the liquid. Conversations fell off then died as the people turned to look at Marcos, the respectful silenced clearly showing he was seen as the patriarch of the family by some, the leader by others. "A toast," he declared, "To our Xenos, returned home at last, and his bride, Laura!"

"To Xenos and Laura," others in the room saluted, even as eyes widened to stare at Remington, while others suddenly sported wide, self-satisfied smiles. Remington knew immediately who held each side of the bet he'd predicted existed to Laura, and as he'd suspected those who believed he'd never settle down far outweighed those who did. He and Laura raised their glasses in acknowledgment, both taking a healthy drink of the liquid. Remington laughed as Laura's eyes widened, the liquid scorching its way down her throat. _That's my Laura,_ he thought with pride, _never let them see her flinch, although many a man's eyes had watered at their first drink of Ouzo._ Recognizing resisting the urge was futile, his hand found the back of her neck and he drew her to him, kissing her quickly but soundly. Laying his lips next to her ear, he whispered to her.

"Ouzo. A devil of a drink to get used to and quite potent, at that," he warned lightly.

"So I noticed," she managed to squeak out. "You could have warned me."

"Where would the fun be in that, love?" he asked, before brushing his lips against her neck and standing back to his full height. Draping an arm around her back, his hand lying lightly across her waist, he gave her a gentle nudge towards an arched doorway. "Come, see the house. It's magnificent. Just be prepared. There are likely hoards of people in the rooms beyond as well as out on the veranda."

"Who are all these people?" she asked under her breath. Remington glanced around the room they were leaving, then ahead into the large, open kitchen area into which they were about to enter.

"For the most part? Various family members: cousins, aunts, uncles and the like. The rest? Likely those who work for Marcos and their own families." Her eyes widened again.

"Exactly how big is 'the family'?" she queried.

"Mmmmm," he pondered. "Elena is one of seven children, Marcos one of six. If I recall correctly Marcos' father was one of a dozen. Who knows beyond that?" He shrugged, before continuing. "It would be fair to say that roughly half of Oia is related to them in some manner or..."

Whatever he'd meant to say was drowned out by the screeching of a woman rapidly approaching them. Before Remington could brace himself, the woman threw herself into his arms, knocking him back a bit, then began raining kisses across his cheeks, as Laura stood watching with a raised brow. With a roll of her eyes, she thought to herself: _The man gives new meaning to 'someone in every port'. And why is it, in most cases, each is more stunning than the next?_

She looked the woman over assessingly. Waist length, board straight, glossy black hair. Deeply tanned, flawless, olive-tinted skin. Large, green eyes with thick lashes any woman would die for. Tall and lithe yet somehow still well-endowed, with long, well-toned limbs that Remington was currently, laughingly, trying to extract himself from. She loathed the other woman on sight, purely on principle.

Finally prying the woman loose from him with a gentle, scolding, "Melina, that's quite enough," Remington laughed again, while sitting her away from him.

"Melina, my wife, Laura…" he voice was drowned out by a new round of shrieking coming from Melina as she pounced on Laura, hugging her fiercely.

"You have _got_ to tell me _how_ my conceited, _mule-headed_ , never-take-anything-seriously brother managed to convince you to marry him!" Melina babbled happily. "And those movies he's forever quoting…."

"Melina, don't…" Remington growled warningly, while a smile tugged at his lips. Melina shot him a glance, which immediately earned her a look of exasperation.

"Hush, Xen," she interrupted him, cutting off his words yet again. "You always did talk too much," she told him with a roll of her eyes, before linking her arm with Laura's and giving it a small tug. "Laura and I are going to go have some girl talk now. Off with you," she told him with a flick of her wrist.

Laura's merry laughter rippled through the air, while Melina dragged her from the room. She immediately changed her opinion of the young woman. _I love her. Anyone that can render him speechless is a friend for life,_ Laura thought, as a glance back showed a stunned Remington's lips move but not a single syllable cross them, before she turned away, her laughter trailing in her wake.

* * *

Laura was exhausted, and more than a little tipsy, by the time they shut the door to their room at nearly three o'clock in the morning. Marcos and Elena had insisted Remington and his new bride stay with them while they were in Greece. Remington had protested at first, worried Laura would be upset. This was, after all, their honeymoon, and staying with the older couple would mean little time alone. But she had laid her hand on his arm, silencing him, and smiled warmly at the couple accepting their invitation.

He turned towards the dresser and taking off his watch laid it there watching as she made her way towards their luggage, teetering uncertainly on her heels. Suddenly, she twisted an ankle and started to plunge forward when he reached out and grabbed her around the waist before she could fall face first onto the floor. He laughed aloud.

Bullets raining around them? No problem. Cars chasing them? Still no problem. A maniac trying to slaughter them? She had it. But Ouzo was proving to be her kryptonite. Of course, it didn't help that every time they turned around a friend or family member had been toasting to their happiness.

Leading her over to the bed, a hand around her waist to keep her steady, he helped her sit then reached down and removed her heels, one at a time. Giving her a quick kiss, he told her, "There, maybe that will help."

Laura stood again and headed towards their luggage, less wobbly now. Opening both bags, she stared blankly into them.

"Looking for something?" he asked.

"Where'd you put my nightgowns?"

He grinned sheepishly at her. "I, uh, sent a bag home with Mildred. I rather thought it would be senseless to bring them along given I would have just had to strip them right back off you."

She shook her head, laughing at the chicanery that was so him. "Well," she said, plucking one of pajama tops from the bag, "I'm afraid you're going to have to share." Pulling the matching bottoms out of the suitcase she tossed them to him. "Go take your shower, Rem." Nodding at her, he took two steps towards her and brushed his lips against hers, then let them linger for a long moment. With a final kiss to her cheek, he left the room.

Stripping down, Laura buttoned herself into his pajama top, then slid on a fresh pair of panties. Moving to the bed, she folded down the quilt and sheet before sitting down on the edge of it and eyeing speculatively the room they were to stay in. It was a large room, nearly double the size of Remington's bedroom at home, yet somehow felt warm and cozy. The queen sized bed was topped with a clearly handmade quilt, while hand-embroidered cases adorned the pillows. A chaise was tucked into a corner of the room by the French doors that led to a private patio, while sheer white drapes flanked either side of the doors. All the bedroom furniture was made of a solid wood and was well-built, and hand-crocheted doilies were scattered over the surfaces of the dressers and bedside tables. It was clear that someone had lovingly decorated every corner of the room, and Laura would lay odds on that person being Elena.

Standing, she walked to the French doors, and opened them, allowing the soft, pre-dawn breeze to waft into the room. Barefoot, she strolled towards the balcony wall, then leaning against it looked down at the moonlit Aegean Sea, beams of light making the water sparkle in the darkness. Boats and yachts bobbed in the gently lapping waters in the marina below, and the bright white houses along the caldera glowed under the moonlight. Looking up, she was stunned by the millions of stars, clearly visible in the night sky, not hidden by pollution or dimmed by the city lights as was the case in LA.

In short time she felt a hand slide around her waist. Laying her own arm over his, she weaved her fingers through his as she leaned into him. Remington laughed softly as memories of his days as a boy swimming in the waters below drifted through his mind. Marcos had worked them hard, as was the way of the Greek lifestyle, but they were given plenty of time to play, live.

"A pound for your thoughts," Laura said rubbing the back of her head lightly against his chest, while giving his fingers a soft squeeze.

"Memories, Laura, just memories," he answered, leaning his head down and nuzzling the side of her head with his chin.

"They love you, you know," she told him softly.

"I know."

"How old were you when you were here?" she asked even as shivered in the cool night air, and he wrapped her tighter in his arms.

"Eleven, twelve" he said remembering. "After I ran from the orphanage, I spent a few months on the streets of Brixton and that was enough to let me know I didn't want to spend any more time there than I had to. By then, I had perfected my pick-pocketing, had learned to run a card game and a couple other scams that I figured could get me by for the most part. Oh, it was cold on the streets of England at night in the winters. I'd nearly froze to death on a couple occasions," he remembered, shivering even now. "I kept my ear to the ground, looking for any way at all to get me away from there and eventually learned a ship was in dock that would be leaving for Greece in a fortnight. I bided my time, then stowed away." He laughed at the memory.

"Marcos' ship?" she asked.

"Mmmm hmmm. The first night all was well. I stayed hidden, only daring to emerge to sneak into the galley at night to nick some food. It was the second night out that I ran into trouble, coming down with a cough and a fever. I couldn't remember a time when I'd ever felt so poorly, having no idea the worst was yet to come. I stayed huddled up in the corner of a storage room, hungry but too weak to try to nip some food, and doubted I could keep anything down any way, I coughed so hard and long." He tilted his head, losing himself in the memory. "I started when I heard someone at the door, afraid that I was about to be found. When the door opened, I held my breath, best I could, but was suddenly seized by a great fit, unable to catch my breath.

"'Who's in there,'…" Remington mimicked the booming voice that had shouted out those many years before, "…I heard a voice bellow, as I scooted behind a barrel, trying to make myself as small as possible. It was too late though, he knew I was there. I waited, dreading the moment I was found." He laughed softly while leaning forward slightly to catch her eyes. "I had developed a love of pirate movies at the time and was certain I would be made to walk the plank if found," he remembered laughing. Her hand reaching up to touch her fingertips to his cheek, she laughed with him.

"All of a sudden a large hand reached out and grabbed me by the back of my shirt lifting me clean off the ground. 'A stowaway now are you,' that voice boomed. I tried to swing at the man, to kick, but was seized by a great fit of coughs again. 'Are you sick boy,' the voice demanded, and I couldn't answer, could only cough.

"His hand reached out, I was quite convinced to knock me out, and instead it came to rest on my forehead. 'Your burning up, boy. Let's go now,' he told me, his voice softening. I could only remember one, perhaps two men that had passed through my life at that point, as having compassion." He nodded his head, a small smile twitching at his lips. "He took me up to the cabin where the deckhands slept and put me on a bed. 'We'll be docking in an hour boy, then seeing about getting you home. What's your name,' he demanded. I just held silent. 'Alright then, have it your way, I will call you Xenos for now.'

"When the ship docked, he could have simply dumped me at the port and allowed me to fend for myself. Instead, he did the most shocking thing that had ever occurred to me in my life at that point and took me to his home. He and Elena didn't live here," he swept his hand out around him, "at the time but in one of the houses of the Cyclades, a little two bedroom affair, not more than 700 square feet. Already they had five bodies shoved in there, them and their three children, and certainly there was not room enough to fit a sixth. Yet, fit me in they did, dropping a pallet on the floor of the children's room, eventually a small bed.

"Elena, taking one look at me turned to Marcos and told him 'you will get the doctor now' and he left not questioning her, as he never does. I had pneumonia, probably picked up in the cold Brixton streets. Elena nursed me back to health, feeding me constantly, always clucking her tongue at me and telling me I was too thin." He laughed softly. _Some things never change,_ he thought to himself. _She spent the better part of this evening trying to feed me._ "When I was back on my feet they allowed me to stay, demanding no more of me than they did their own children: help with the family business, do my chores, go to school and church.

"It was a good period in my life, Laura, one of the best." He nodded his head thoughtfully as he finished the story.

"Then why did you leave? You were safe, clearly loved," she asked, stroking his arm.

"I left a week after Marco's freighter sank. At the time, I believe I told myself I was lighting out because they couldn't afford another mouth to feed and I was doing the honorable thing. All these years later though, I can admit it was something else."

"What was that?" She asked tipping her head back against his shoulder to look up at him.

"I was terrified that they would realize I was a burden to them and turn me out themselves. Easier to be chivalrous than unwanted again. I wanted to leave while they still cared. Made it easier somehow."

"They wouldn't have, turned you out you know."

"No, they wouldn't have. But a grown man sees the world differently than a young boy."

"Yes, they do," Laura agreed, turning into his arms and raising her head, asking to be kissed. He obliged, bending his head to hers he kissed her softly several times, then deepened it. Laura ran her hands up and down his sides, reveling that she could touch him like this anytime she wanted now. She felt…free.

Breaking the kiss, he looked down at her, not sure how she would take what he said next. "Laura…" he began.

"Yes," she asked, kissing his neck, and running her hands up his chest. He grabbed her hands before they could wander any further and make this more difficult that it would already be.

"Laura…uh…. I don't know how to say this…"

She tilted her head and considered him. "Just say it," she suggested.

"I can't make love to you here in this house. Marcos and Elena's, well, you know…"

She stared at him, completely flummoxed at first. Then seeing him avert his eyes, feeling his feet shuffling beneath him, she began laughing. "You feel like a naughty boy sneaking a girl into his parent's house!" she accused, laughing even harder.

"It's not funny, Laura," he said, trying to frown at her.

"Should I point out to you that they know we're married and that I'm pretty sure they know married couples go to bed with one another?" her body was shaking she was laughing so hard by now.

"I know but… well… you know… It's… ummm… one thing for them to assume, quite another for them to… uh… know."

"Bernice is going to laugh for a week when I tell her this," Laura giggled, amused by even the idea of sharing this tidbit with her friend. "She didn't stop laughing the entire night after you overheard my little chat with her in the bathroom, and this is so much better than that," she teased.

"Laura, you wouldn't dare," he commented, horrified at the thought.

"Oh, I don't know about that. This might be too good to pass up," she laughed again, as he squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing now. "Let's go to bed, Rem. I'm beat," she told him, taking his hand as she moved towards the French doors.

Leaving the doors open they crossed to the bed and crawled in. He lay on his back, and like all the months before, she tucked herself up into his side, nuzzling her head against him until she found that perfect place to rest, in that slight divot where shoulder meets chest. Her fingertips traced his sides, soothingly, as his long fingers trailed back and forth up the length of her arm. She fell asleep with her head on his chest, still laughing quietly.

* * *

 _Author's Note: The character of Marcos was first introduced to us in Red Holt Steele and for some reason captured my heart, perhaps because he provided such an inspiration to RS. I couldn't help but revive him here. Let me know if you are enjoying the Androkus family, if so, they may appear in more stories down the line!_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Please note: This chapter contains a considerable amount of NC-17 material. If you are under 18 or uncomfortable with such content, please continue on to the next chapter.**_

* * *

Chapter 2: Laying Claim

"Laura," Remington whispered, "Laura, it's time to get up, love," he repeated, rubbing her back.

Laura rolled over and stretched like a cat before opening her eyes. "What time is it?"

"Just after 10."

"10 o'clock in the morning?" She bolted upright, clonking her head into Remington's.

"Owwww," he complained rubbing his forehead. "Really Laura, a little more care." He leaned over and kissed her forehead where it had knocked into his.

"Sorry, sorry," she told him getting out of bed. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I never sleep past six and this is the second time in two days. Before you know it, I'll be sleeping the day away like someone else we know."

She moved to their luggage, trying to decide what to wear.

"Might I make a suggestion?" She glanced at him over her shoulder.

"Is there a specific function I'm dressing for?" she asked, puzzled. He nodded towards a bag sitting on top of the dresser.

"I had Melina run an errand for us this morning. Look in the bag. There's a good sampling of delectable little swimsuits… little being the operative word," he told her with a wag of his brow. Her laughter trickled across the room. "Just be sure to bring one of the cover-ups with you. The sun is bright coming off the water.""

"The water?" she asked, looking up from the bag she was rummaging through and smiling. "Thinking of spending the morning on the beach?" He walked across the room slowly and with intent, drawing her eyes away from the bag and to him. Hands sliding up under the tail of his pajama top, finding the bare skin of her waist, he drew her to him.

"Mmmmmm. Not at all. Marcos has given me use of his sailboat for the day. I thought we might take a little tour of the islands…" thumbs rubbing against the sensitive skin under them, he dipped his head down to touch his lips to her neck, "… eventually find a private little cove that we can tuck ourselves up in…" drawing her closer, he brushed his lips across each of her eyes, "… then…." He trailed off when her hands slid over his bare chest, over the smooth skin of his shoulders, finding their way to the back of his neck, fingers toying with the ends of his hair there.

"Then have lunch?" she suggested helpfully, a smile playing at her lips, knowing full well what was on his mind. After a several hours of his long, lean body pressing against hers, his hand stroking her breast through the silk of his pajama top even as he slept, his warm breath against her hair, she, too, was in desperate need of some alone time. She watched him grimace, almost painfully, at her words and had to suppress a laugh.

"Really, Laura, I'm trying for a little romance here," he complained. Her eyes caught and held his, as her hands skimmed along the side of his neck, found the sides of his firm jaws and drew his head down towards her. Her lips fluttered across his, drawing him in. With a groan, an arm tightened around her waist, a hand sliding up the bare skin of her back, pressing between her shoulders as his lips settled over hers. He teased, tempted and when her mouth opened invitingly under his without a hint, he hummed deep in his throat when their tongues barely glanced and he tasted her fully. With a couple of soft lingering kisses, her eyes waiting for his to open and meet her own, she tipped her head away.

"A feast of a different kind then?" she murmured the question, her fingers finding his chest, nails scraping lightly through the hair there.

"Perhaps a little dessert as well," he confirmed on a gravelly, hunger-tinged voice, leaning in to touch his lips against hers again.

"Multiple courses then," she hummed her own pleasure against his lips.

"Always," he promised, seeking her lips again. Laura ducked out of his arms, leaving his lips kissing air.

"I'll be ready in five minutes," she promised, throwing a thousand-watt smile at him, practically running out of the room.

* * *

"I must say, Laura, you never cease to amaze me," Remington told her. "I'd no idea you knew how to rig a sailboat."

"Misspent youth," she grinned. "Mmmmmmmmmmm."

Laura was stretched out on a towel on the bow of the boat, wearing a rose colored, two-piece swimsuit. Remington, wearing a long pair of white swim trucks, was leaning over her rubbing sunscreen onto her back.

"Aren't you afraid you're going to put too much lotion on me and I am going to 'slither off the boat'?" she teased, referring to the time in Acapulco when he had watched Dominick, the man they were after, rubbing lotion on her skin. His hands stilled at his own memory, then with a quick shake of his head, continued to massage the sunscreen in.

"Careful, Laura," he warned. "You might not want to remind me of your little afternoon delight, or I may do now what I wanted to do then."

"Oh, and what was that?" she asked coyly.

"Cool you off," he returned drolly. She pushed herself up on an elbow and turned her head to look over her shoulder at him.

"You wouldn't dare."

"I wouldn't, would I now?" He scooped her up in his arms and walked over to the side of the boat, and summarily tossed her in.

She came up sputtering and laughing simultaneously. "I can't believe you did that," she called up to him.

"I can't believe you brought up Acapulco at a time like that," he shot back, grinning.

"Come on in. The water is wonderful."

"I think I will," he called back and then dove into the cool waters below, swimming below the surface until he spied her legs, running his hands across them, her shriek, muffled by the water between them, making him laugh – _quite an accomplishment when one is under the water,_ he mused. Surfacing, he watched her use her arms to spin around the water, trying to identify what had just touched her legs. Seeing his grin, she put two and two together and swatted at him playfully.

"I can't believe you did that," she laughed.

"What?" he asked feigning innocence.

"Brushed up against my legs like that. Since my little adventure with the snakes, I can't stand anything touching me when I'm in the water."

"Anything?" he asked, pulling himself over next to her, and reaching a hand around her skimmed it over her back and then down over her buttocks.

"Well, maybe not anything," she admitted, her breath quickening as Remington leaned in to kiss her. Her eyes shot open when she realized she'd nearly missed the mischievous glint in his eyes, and she managed to take a breath right before he dunked her.

Kicking her way back to the surface, she broke the water laughing.

"You're going to pay for that," she warned. Swimming after him, she grabbed hold of his shoulders and shoved him under, not counting on him grabbing her by the legs and yanking her down with him. Under the water he pulled her to him, then locked his lips on hers. They broke the surface, still kissing. Laura broke away from the kiss, as they started to sink, unable to tread water and kiss at the same time,

 _My God_ , Remington thought to himself not for the first time, _she steals my breath away_. The blush on her cheeks from their kiss lingered, her chest still heaving from their play and her eyes sparkling with the laughter he had missed so much seeing there in weeks past. He dove beneath the water again. Swimming to her he ran his hand over her ankle, and up her leg caressing her inner thigh. His hand moved upward, skimming her flat stomach before reaching out and caressing her breast. He broke the water, panting.

Treading water once more, scant inches from her body, he leaned in to brush his mouth against hers. Her breath caught in her throat, as bright blue eyes – made even more blue by the color reflecting off the water – regarded her with intense desire. His hand reached for hers, giving it a gentle squeeze, before he released it and swam back towards the boat, hoping she'd follow. As he stroked through the water, he acknowledged that the odds were even on her doing it. _Independent sort, my wife is. If she wants to swim she'll swim. If she wishes to play, she'll follow._ He pulled himself up the ladder of the boat, turning to sit down on a step, watching as she tread water where he'd left her, clearly contemplating her choices.

Her gaze focused on him as he pulled himself from the water, appreciating the lines of his slim back, her eyes feeding hungrily on his well-defined bum, showcased by the wet bathing suit. When he turned to sit on the ladder, her eyes didn't waiver. She watched as he shook the water free from his normally impeccable hair, even as his eyes never left her. Her eyes skimmed his jaw and lips before moving downward, her breath becoming more shallow as they wandered the chest she loved. White hot desire coursed through her body as she imagined licking every glistening drop of water from his shoulders, chest, and stomach. Her tongued flicked against her lips, and watching a smile lift his lips, she began to swim towards him.

When she reached the ladder, he extended a hand to her, helping her from the water. She stood on the bottom step of the ladder, her position placing them eye-to-eye. His hands reached around her waist to hold her firm, even as he bent his head down so that their lips could meet. His lips journeyed softly against hers, then left, a hand departing her waist to lay against her face, a thumb stroking her cheek. Her body leaned forward, her arms wrapping around his neck as she simply watched the play of emotion across his face.

"Have you any idea, at all, how very much you mean to me?" he asked huskily. Laura touched her lips against his. An arm leaving his neck, she shadowed his actions, her hand laying along his jaw, a thumb stroking below his lips, before she inclined her head towards him. Her lips hovered near his, as her eyes caught his and held.

"I love you, Rem," she whispered before touching her lips against his and holding them there for several long moments as she watched him and felt the small tremor that coursed through his body at her words.

"Perhaps half as much as I do you." He said the words so quietly, had she not been as close as she was to him, she may not have heard him. But she did and was stunned by the tenderness they'd been spoken with. A dozen different thoughts raced through her mind in the split second afterwards, yet after years of waiting for him to give her the three words she'd craved to hear, the only thing she could think to say to him now was…

"Show me."

"My pleasure, love," he murmured as his mouth found her shoulder. His lips glanced across her skin, every once in a while daring a taste of her skin, moving from the tip of her shoulder inwards until his lips found that most exquisitely sensitive spot where neck meets shoulder. Teeth nipped gently, before a tongue laved. Drawing her skin there into his mouth, he sucked gently. Her breath quickened at the sensation, her knees wobbling beneath her. An arm tightened around her as his lips moved up the column of her neck, and a hand reached behind her to undo the ties of her top. Tossing it up onto the deck of the boat, his hand soothed down her side, over her ribs then the curve of her waist, his fingers exploring the sensitive skin there, drawing a small moan from her.

"Rem…" Her voice held a quiet, unspoken plea that he touch her. As his mouth moved to lathe that spot beneath her ear that would send sparks shooting across her body whenever he landed there, long tapered fingers brushed across a breast. She arched into his hand, aching to feel his mouth on her. His hand skimmed down her body over her hip and grasping her bottom, nudged her up a step. His mouth closed over a nipple. She moaned deep in her throat, her hand pressing against the back of his head to keep him close. His mouth pulled her deeper inside, even as his tongue found the tip of her nipple, brushing against it. She cried out at the sheer pleasure that pulse through her to her core.

"Laura," he groaned, releasing her nipple from his mouth and moving to her other breast, the tip of his tongue flicking against her hardened peak before suckling, drawing her deeper when her hand clutched at the back of his head. The arm around her waist tightened, freeing a hand to explore the tantalizing swell of her perfect little bottom. Fingers found the top of her swim suit and dipped in to toy with her cleft, before exploring the bare skin below. With a moan, she pulled herself from his mouth, then leaned down to find his lips with hers. The kiss began soft, but deepened as their hunger for one another continued to grow.

"Rem," she murmured again. His eyes met hers, and what he saw there, made his body surge with the need to feel himself buried in her. With a kiss against her neck, he held her lightly until she was steady on her own two feet, then stood and turned, climbing up the remainder of the ladder. When she reached topside he pulled her into his arms, hoisting her up to where her feet were several inches from the ground. Laura smiled, wrapping her legs around him, then bent down to kiss him. Putting his hand on the back of her head, Remington deepened the kiss and with a moan buried his tongue in her mouth, carrying her over to the ledge of the boat rail and sitting her on it.

Their mouths still joined, her hands worked at the tie on his swimsuit finally freeing it as he divested her of her bikini bottom, and both garments were flung to the ground at the same time. Breaking his mouth free of hers, he leaned down and sucked the nipple of a breast into his mouth, pulling hard as her back arched.

She groaned, and her hands reached out grabbing his back, raking it lightly with her nails in her desire. Remington released her nipple from his mouth and repositioned her on the ledge, then slowly slid inside her hot, wet warmth. Laura gasped with pleasure and her body automatically tightened around him.

"My God, babe," he murmured, his mouth leaving her breast and moving to nip and graze along her collarbone. Her hands slid from his back, over his waist, before feathering across his abdomen then upwards to caress his chest. He began to move slowly inside of her. She tipped her hips to take him deeper, even as her hands found the sides of his face, and she lifted his head to meet her passion dazed eyes. Her lips parted to try to tell him what she wanted, but instead she drew a tremoring breath as the tip of him glanced over that sensitive spot. Her hands twitched against his chest. She needed more, wanted more, but could only manage a single word.

"Rem…" He heard the passion driven tone of her voice, understood her unspoken request. He leaned into her, his hands grasping the boat rails on either side of her body.

"Hold onto my arms then, love," he murmured, as his lips found hers again. Laura's hands grabbed his upper arms, as he began to thrust faster, harder, driving her quickly to the precipice, where she hovered, not wanting to go over without him. Battling himself not to leave her behind, his mouth left hers to find that spot at the base of her neck. He sucked the skin into his mouth, lightly pulling on it, his tongue laving it. She shattered, crying out as her muscles quivered and clenched around him.

"Laura," he moaned, breathing hard against her neck, as he drove deep into her, exploding within her from the force of his climax. His arms wrapped around her, even as he pulsed within her depths, her arms reaching under his to grasp his back, burying her face in his chest as she continued to quiver. As their orgasms subsided, he opened his eyes to look at her, reveling in the look of satiated pleasure on her face, as she fought to catch her breath.

"My God," she groaned, "If I'd known it would be like this between us four years ago, I would have jumped into your bed the first time you asked."

Tenderness washed over Remington at her words. Catching her eyes with his, he reached up and hooked his fingers around her neck, pulling him to her, capturing her lips with his as his fingers caressed the side of her neck. The kiss was as gentle as their encounter moments before had been fast. His lips touched lightly, the pressure growing with each encounter. Turning his head, he met her lips again, this time his mouth slightly open, brushing gently across hers, his tongue barely touching her lips, tasting her. His arm moved underneath her knees and he lifted her to him, carrying her across thebow, and he broke his mouth free from hers only as long as it took him to lay her down upon the towels and join her, then reclaimed her mouth once more.

Remington rolled over onto his back, taking Laura with him, holding the back of her head to keep their mouths joined. Giving her two small kisses, he whispered "Laura, look at me," gently lifting her chin with his fingers so they would be eye-to-eye. She opened her eyes and looked down at him. There was a look on his face she could not remember ever seeing before, and she reached up her hand to stroke her fingers across his jaw.

"Laura," he leaned up and gently touched her lips with his, then moved his hand to brush back her hair so he could see her eyes, "Make love to me."

She reached down and brushed a lock of hair from his brow, still looking into his eyes. It hit her, then, what that unusual look in his eyes was: need to be touched; need so clear it made her heart ache. Releasing a shuddering breath, she leaned down and brushed her mouth across his, before settling her lips over his. She kissed him, soft, then deep, her tongue searching for his, tangling with it when she found it. She pulled back, then returned to his mouth, kissing him again, pulling on his bottom lip, before moving her lips to his cheek then his brow. Looking in his eyes, she brushed the stubborn lock of hair back again, before kissing his forehead then moving down ran her soft lips across the length of his jaw line in one direction, then used the tip of her tongue to trace his jaw line, to taste him, while returning the other direction, his whiskers tickling her tongue.

His hands continue to rub her back, her bottom, but other than that, he gave full control of his body over to her.

Laura shimmied down his body, moving her mouth to his collarbone, to taste, to kiss, to nip, first one side then the other as her hands reached up and ran their way through his hair. She moved lower still, turning out of his arms to lay next to him, to watch as she ran her hand across his chest, then down and across his abdomen, amazed to watch his muscles jump and contract in reaction to her touch. Continuing to feel him, to touch him, she leaned over and kissed a path across his chest, then dared to flick her tongue across one of his nipples, smiling as he moaned low in his throat, almost involuntarily.

"Laura, babe…" he breathed, then let out a shaky breath.

Emboldened, she swung her leg over him, straddling him again, tucking his hardening length between her folds. The feel of her wet, warm flesh against him drove thought from his mind as his eyes rolled back in his head and his eyes closed. Closing her own eyes, Laura used her hands to draw a picture of him in her mind. His eyes opened to watch her, the looks crossing her face as she explored his body more potent than the strongest of aphrodisiacs.

"I love the feel of you under my hands, Rem. All the little glimpses of touch over the years finally coming together to form a whole." Her fingers explored his sides. "The ridges of your ribs, that my hands would run over when we danced. Knowing if I touch you here, like this," her fingers dug lightly under between the fifth and sixth rib, making him twitch at the contact, "that you'll flinch, because you're ticklish there." The corners of her lips ticked upwards, before her teeth found her bottom lip when he reacted to her touch just as she knew he would. Her hands skimmed over his chest, finding the breadth of his shoulders. Her fingers touched, explored, smoothed across his flesh there.

"Your shoulders that have been under my fingers more times than I can count," she opened her eyes to look at him, found blue eyes that had deepened nearly to indigo fastened on her. "They've widened across the years," she leaned down, her lips hovering over his, her eyes holding his, "becoming even sexier." She kissed him, then pulling back, closed her eyes again. Her fingers traced through the hair on his chest, before her hands explored him fully. A hand settled over his heart, to feel the quickened pace of it.

"I love everything about your chest, Rem," she murmured. "The feel of your heart under my hand. The soft hair against my fingers," her hand skimmed over to the area between shoulder and chest. "The place, right here, that seems made for me." She leaned forward and brushed the tips of her breast against his chest. She moaned lightly at the sensation. "Both soft and hard against me."

With a groan, he pushed himself up on an elbow, fingers searching for and finding a nipple. His hand slipped around her back, urging her forward. She leaned into him when his mouth found her peak, nipping at the hardened bud before pulling it into his mouth, shooting jolts of pleasure straight to her core.

"Rem…" she moaned, "this is supposed… to be about… _you_.. Oh God." Her hips moved, instinctively grinding against his erection that was pressed against her.

"This _is_ about me, love," his words muffled by the breast in his mouth. Giving her nipple a final pull, he kissed his way across her chest to the other breast. "Have you any idea how much I love you under my fingers, to feel you in my mouth, to taste you?" His mouth closed over her other breast. The hand on her back slipped down to find and grasp a cheek of her bottom, encouraging her movements, as his lips, tongue and teeth teased her hardened peak, sending her, gasping, over the edge. His mouth released her breast at that moment, to find that place between neck and shoulder, suckling there, prolonging her pleasure. Only when the last tremor left her body did he release her and allow himself to fall back onto the deck.

Still quaking, Laura scooted further down his body, showering his abdomen with kisses, then shocked him by taking her tongue and tracing a path from his chest to his navel, while her hand reached out to stroke the length of his hardened shaft, before her hand grasped him, her fingers opening and closing around him in that way that made him mad with desire. His entire body twitched when he felt her tongue run the length of his shaft, then taking the tip of him in her mouth, to suckle it gently, before releasing him to run her tongue down him again.

"Babe," he groaned, as his hand tangled in her hair, "I'm not going to be able to take much more of that."

"Mmmm, I know," she hummed, more than confident in the effects of her actions on him. "You like that don't you, Rem?" she teased, as she softly nipped around the rim of his length.

Remington groaned again and nodded. Running her tongue across him one more time then kissing the head, she released him from her grasp.

"Okay, we'll come back to that."

His body twitched in anticipation of her promise, even as he groaned unhappily at the loss of her. She worked her way back upward, kissing, sucking gently, exploring all of his abdomen and chest with her hands and mouth. Her lips worked their way across his neck towards his ear when his hand reached out and grabbed the towel and moaned. Laura smiled to herself, then darted out her tongue to flick over the area behind and slightly beneath his ear. He sucked in his breath and his arm reached around her crushing her against him.

"You like this too, do you?" Laura sucked on the area gently, watching as the hand on the deck began twisting the towel in it. She suckled a little harder on the area, forcing a moan from deep within his chest.

"Yes… yes."

"Okay, we'll come back to that too."

Laura leaned over and ran her tongue across his lips. Remington's arms locked around her and flipped her onto her back, taking control of the kiss, flicking his tongue into her mouth and running it against the back of her teeth. Nudging her legs apart with a knee, he settled between her legs, positioning himself at her entrance. As he pushed himself up on his forearms, preparing to press forward into her depths, she scooted out from beneath him, leaving him lying on his stomach. She playfully wagged a finger at him.

"Uh, uh, not yet. There's so much more to do."

Laura swung a leg over his back, then sat on his on his bottom. Feeling her wet heat against him nearly snapped his control. He fought to remain still beneath her. She leaned forward and kissed the back of his neck then ran her open mouth across his shoulders. She sucked the skin at the base of his neck firmly into her mouth, leaving a mark when she released it.

She moved her mouth next to his ear. "Just a little reminder," she murmured against his ear. "You're mine, Rem," she whispered then nipped at his earlobe before sitting back up again.

"Is that so?" he murmured, his body jolting with pleasure as she ran her hands over the plains of his back, then raked her nails gently up it, watching as muscles jumped and goosebumps appeared.

"Hmmmm. It is. I even left evidence that will allow you to prove it."

Remington laughed softly, then sucked in his breath as her tongue ran across the base of his spine, sending him grabbing for the towel again. Letting go of his breath, he moaned with pleasure. She swung her leg over his and moved to kneel beside him, then ran her hand over a cheek before running a series of kisses down it, making his hand once more to twist the towel beneath him.

"I can't take much more, Laura."

"Then turn over, sweetheart."

Remington's pulse raced at the endearment. In all their years together she had never used such a term towards him. He found it … humbling, was the only word he could think of. As he flipped over, his arms reached out to grab her, to bring her up to him, but she swayed away from him, wagging her finger at him again.

"Uh, uh. It's time to use those little secrets of yours…" she said with a smirk that made his stomach tighten with anticipation.

"For or against me?" he asked, managing to lift a playful brow at her, but when her fingers trailed over him from neck to waist the look floundered as his back pressed hard into the deck.

"Why don't you be the judge," she teased back playfully.

Remington grinned at her, then his eyes nearly rolled completely back in his head before he closed them and he groaned deeply, when Laura lay her hand on his knee then ran her fingers up over his thigh, then grasped him. She ran her hand up and down his shaft slowly a few times while her tongue swept along his hip. She smiled with satisfaction as she watched his breathing double in tempo.

"For or against you?" she asked huskily.

"For…for.." then his entire body jerked as she sucked the tip of him into her mouth. "Oh my God, Laura, I'm not going to be able to take much more of that, you already have me at the edge."

Releasing him for a moment she reached up and ran a hand across his chest, then raked her nails lightly down his chest and across his abdomen.

"There's nothing to take, just to enjoy," she told him as she bent back over him, running her tongue over his length then taking him in her mouth while her hand tightened around his base, stroking him. Her tongue swirled around his tip, as her hand increased the pace. Releasing him, she blew her breathe against him and ran her tongue around the rim of his shaft, before taking him back in her mouth, skimming her teeth down him, then sucking gently, skirting her tongue against its underside simultaneously, stopping just short of pitching him over the edge into oblivion.

"Laura…." he moaned in low, gravelly voice as he grabbed her under the arms, dragging her body up to lay on top of him, then found her mouth with his. His lips touched her lips softly several times, before his mouth opened, and he plundered almost desperately. Breaking his mouth free of hers, he ran his hands down her bare back, across her hips, then skimmed over her sides before he cupped either side of her face in his hands.

"Look at me, Laura." Her passion filled eyes made contact and held with his own. "You're mine, Mrs. Steele. From here forward, you're only mine. Say it." She heard the plea in his voice, even as he tried to conceal it. Under normal circumstances she would rage against the idea of anyone believing she was an object to be possessed, but these were not normal circumstances. The man she loved lay naked before her, as much in soul as in body. One look in his eyes was all it took for her to understand that he needed to know, once and for all, that there would never be anyone else but him again.

She nodded her head at him. "I'm yours, Mr. Steele, from here on out," she answered, reaching up to stroke the side of his face with her hand, then shifting it downwards so her thumb could run over his lips. "Are you saying that you're only mine as well, from here forward?" she asked with a tilt of her head, needing to know the answer to that as much as he.

"I have been for a long, long time, Laura and that is not ever going to change," he swore to her, before pulling her lips down to meet his again.

Laura broke free of his kiss and dipped her head down to his neck. Running her lips up along it, when she reached the sweet spot right below his ear, she kissed it before flicking her tongue against it. She moved down his body, running her hands and lips across his chest, pulling on a nipple with her mouth before she continued southward. His eyes closed, he moaned against her assault on his body, while his hands reached down to run through her hair. She pushed herself up on her knees then moved a leg over him and straddled him.

"Open your eyes, Rem," she told him softly, wanting to see the look in his eyes when she took him inside of her, much as he had wanted the same the first time they had made love. His eyes opened, and their gazes caught and held as she lowered herself slowly onto him, a low, throaty hum of pleasure escaping her throat when she sank fully down on him, taking the entirety of him within her. Of their own accord, his hands reached out and ran across her hips, her abdomen then found her breasts.

Laura arched back putting her arms behind her to lean on them as she rode him, slowly, sensually, her eyes never leaving his face, even when his eyes closed as he immersed himself in the feeling of her wrapped around him, moving over him. Pushing herself forward, she planted her hands on his chest, using it for leverage, wanting to watch every nuance of emotion as it flashed across his face. His eyes opened, and realizing what she was about, his hand wrapped around her neck, bringing her lips to his for a kiss that expressed the extent of his longing for her. When their lips parted, his hands moved to grasp her hips and he began thrusting upwards into her in time with her own movements.

Remington's hips slowed then he pushed himself up into a sitting position needing more contact with her, then folded his body over her, until she lay under him. His hand stroked down her outer thigh, before his fingers moved under her knee, urging her to bend both of her legs up. Only when she had, did he push himself up on the full length of his arms, his back arched, as he drove slowly, yet deeply into her. Her hips tilted automatically so that he pressed against the perfect spot with each stroke. She moved with him, as her hands explored his chest, fully at her disposal with his body held high. When her back arched and her legs wrapped around his thighs, signaling she was near, he picked up both the speed and intensity of his thrusts. Laura's hand reached around his neck, and pulling herself upwards, pressed her lips against his. He kissed her with fervor, as he felt her tighten around his shaft. He drove hard into her, until her arms released his neck and she fell back to the bed, back arching deeply, her legs tightening against his thighs. She came apart, calling his name. Dropping down onto a forearm, his other arm moved under her lower back, pressing her body hard against his, so he could feel the nuance of every quiver, even as he drove deep into her one last time and found his own nirvana, gasping her name as he did.

When their orgasms subsided, Laura pulled him down to her, wrapping her arms tight around him. Breathing hard, he tucked his head into her neck, as he tried to regain his equilibrium. Her hands stroked his back, his hair, even as her lips pressed a trail of kisses along his collarbone. Wrapping his arms under her and tucking her tight against him, he rolled over, taking her with him their bodies still connected. She lay, her full length pressed against his, with her heart hammering against his chest, while she tried to regain control of her breathing. Remington ran his hands over her back and hair, to soothe her body back to calm.

His hand moved from her hair to under her chin, simultaneously stroking her neck while lifting her face so he could have access to her lips. He kissed her slow and deep before releasing her lips and pulling her head down to his shoulder. Gently moving his hips, he disconnected their bodies. She groaned at the loss, but nuzzling her head against his chest, settled in against him. Grabbing her cover up lying near them on the deck, he covered her body with it, then stroked her back as she drifted off in a sated sleep, still on top of him, with the help of the gently rocking boat beneath them and the sound of waves gently lapping at the hull below.

He dropped several kisses on top of her head, before closing his eyes and allowing the rhythmic rocking of the boat and the woman in his arms to lull him to sleep as well.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 3: Family Heirlooms

"It's likely to be a late night again, love," he told her, shrugging on a loose fitting linen, shirt, "Are you sure you're up to it?" His eyes followed Laura as she gingerly moved around their bedroom while getting dressed.

As Remington had predicted, news of his return to the island – in the company of his new bride, no less – had spread across the island like wildfire. By the time he and Laura had returned to the house in the late afternoon, Marcos had decreed a party was once more in order so that all who were not in attendance the previous night could celebrate the nuptials of their Xenos and his Laura. The numbers of those in attendance would be staggering and the affair would, no doubt, last deep into the night, weekday evening or not. The Androkus family worked hard and played hard, living life to its fullest. He was looking forward to the evening, whereas Laura? He wasn't sure at the moment.

Sitting down slowly on the bed to latch the straps of her heels, she glared at him.

"Really, Laura, I don't know why you're annoyed with me. I didn't do anything wrong." Another glare. "All I did was laugh."

They had fallen asleep in each other's arms for a couple hours that afternoon after their love making session. He had awakened to her soft groan as she'd started to peel her body from his, only to moan even louder at the movement. Eyes still closed, his lips lifted into a smile. For years he'd believed that she would be his match in the bedroom, simply her passion in day-to-day life attesting to that. That her appetite for him knew no bounds was a stunning discovery that humbled him, even as he marveled that his body managed to keep pace. His smile only broadened at the thought. He was, after all, a man that loved a good challenge.

So, when he woke to her moan, his body flared to life. Granted, given that she'd been laying atop him as she slept - her soft breath on his chest, her small hands stroking his body even in her sleep, and each of her movements providing exquisite friction against a certain part of his anatomy – he'd been on the edge of readiness before even opening his eyes.

"It'd be my absolute pleasure, love," he'd whispered to her, the hand laying on her lower back patting her softly on her bottom to let her know he was awake and more than willing to address her needs.

"Owwwwww," she'd screeched at the contact, throwing herself off of him, and getting to her feet doing a dance as she spun round and round trying to see her very red bottom – the only place on her body he had not enjoyably slathered with sunscreen that afternoon. The scene had been priceless and he had burst out in laughter before he could help himself.

"Laura, I give you my word," he told her now, "I covered you up before we fell asleep. It must have slipped off."

Another glare, as she walked haltingly across the room towards the bedroom door. "All you got," she accused, "was a great tan."

"I hardly have any control of that," he pointed out. Another glare. "Besides, it occurs to me that perhaps I should be a bit put out that my tan is decidedly uneven as the sun was prevented from reaching a good deal of my anatomy since it was well-covered by someone," he teased in an attempt at humor. Another glare. He gave up with a shrug. "Ready?" he asked holding out his elbow for her to take.

Frowning at him, she took his arm, and only pasted on a smile when they reached the living room.

* * *

People were not expected to arrive for another hour yet, so the house was relatively empty. Marcos, sitting in his favorite chair, put down the newspaper he had been reading, then stood up and moved to the couple, giving both a hug.

"A night of celebration is just what we need," Marcos said rubbing his hands together in expectation of the livelihood ahead. "But first, Xenos, Elena has asked to see you in the kitchen."

"Yes, sir," Remington replied obediently. Turning to give Laura a kiss on the cheek, for which he received another glare, he turned and headed to the kitchen.

"And you and I, Laura," Marcos told her, pronouncing her name 'Lair-uh', "we will take a little walk together. Shall we?" he asked holding out his elbow to her.

Laura smiled, hooking her arm through his. "I'd love to," she answered, sincerely.

Marcos opened the front door then beckoned for her to go before him.

* * *

In the kitchen, Remington had his shirt sleeves rolled up and had tied an apron around himself to keep his clothes clean, as he helped Elena prepare the evening's fare. It was in this kitchen with Elena that he had learned his love of cooking, he recalled smiling fondly in her direction. Chores in the household had rotated weekly, so every fourth week while he was here, it was his obligation to help with meal preparation. Male or female, son or daughter, it did not matter to Elena, as she believed they should all know how to cook a proper meal.

Melina worked at a nearby counter, preparing the garlic salad that would be part of the buffet that evening. A cousin, whose name he could not put his finger on just yet, worked nearby Melina, removing the melitinia – cookies the Greek often prepared during times of celebration – from the baking sheets she'd pulled from the oven, moving one cookie at a time to the cooling racks. Elena cast a glance towards Melina. The younger woman, catching her mother's eyes, gave a small nod of acknowledgment. Touching the woman next to her softly on the arm, she indicated with a toss of her head that they were to leave the room.

"Xenos," Elena called his name. Remington looked up with smile in her direction from where he was peeling an endless array of eggplant that would be used in the Moussaka. "Your Laura, she makes you happy.

He grinned crookedly. "When she's not being the most exasperating woman on the planet, yes. And even then, truth be told."

"You love her," Elena observed, keeping her eyes on him as she awaited his response. He nodded thoughtfully, a smile lifting his lips.

"Mmmmm," he acknowledged wordlessly. "She's everything to me."

"Is this, then, the reason we have not seen you for many years?" He glanced up at her, surprised by the question. For more than a decade he'd made it a point to return to Oia and spend a couple of weeks each year with the family. He'd missed them, terribly, during his four-year absence, yet somehow it had never occurred to him that they would miss him as well.

"Yes, I suppose it is. Laura…," he began, then faltered. Pursing his lips thoughtfully, he considered what he wanted to say, phrasing it carefully. "My past has been… difficult… for Laura to come to terms with. An absence of that length would have been cause for both alarm and fear and would have, without a doubt, destroyed any possibility of her ever trusting me."

"She is not part of the life then," Elena noted, in not a question but another statement. He laughed softly.

"Far from it. Laura's as straight and narrow as they come." He saw the look of surprise on the older woman's face. "Believe me, Elena, I'd not planned on her coming into my life. Wasn't prepared for it, at all, as a matter of fact. She was everything I never wanted in a woman: Scrupulously honest, outrageously demanding, strong willed, fiercely independent, obsessed with her work, too intelligent for her own good at times… with a temper that has taken many a man and woman to their knees." He laughed quietly again. "Yet, the day I met her everything…" he searched for the words, then shrugged, "… changed."

"And when was that? When did you meet?" Elena asked. He laughed quietly again.

"We'll be beginning our fifth year together in not too much time. I met her shortly after last I left here."

"You met her in London, then?" Remington shook his head, grinning at her.

"No, in LA. I followed the Lavulite there, had every intention of finally recovering it," he raised an amused brow at Elena, "for a healthy finder's fee, of course. Laura's agency was hired to protect the gems while they were on loan for a showing there. Before I knew it, I was promising I'd not take them until they were no longer in her care," he chuckled.

"You knew, that is why," the older women assessed. He glanced towards Elena briefly, his eyes returning to the eggplant he was slicing momentarily. He considered tap dancing around the truth then dismissed the impulse. He' never been able to lie to Elena – not in act or admission. There was little point I trying to do so now.

"She captivated me from the moment we first met," he nodded, "to that I'll admit."

" _You knew,_ " Elena repeated again, resting her eyes on him. To his chagrin, he realized she had him squirming in his shoes, just a she was able to make him do from the time he was a young lad.

"Suspected, perhaps, though I wouldn't admit it to myself for some time. Yet, even then I knew I'd need to truly make a change if I wanted her to be a part of my life. That much _I knew_ I did want, even if it was only for a little while, as I first imagined," he conceded, then laughed at himself. _I could never have had her for only a moment. Even now I doubt there will ever be enough time with her._

"When did you know, Xenos?" Elena asked, watching his face last thoughts drifted across it.

"I knew I was in…," he frowned, his hands stilling, as he tried to find the right word to describe his reaction to Creighton Phillips arrival in Laura's life, "… trouble… a couple months in. She made her point well enough and I took heed."

"Her point?" Elena questioned, as she pulled a tray of cookies from the oven, only to replace it with a new batch.

"That she neither concedes nor yields to anyone. It was clear that she wanted to be with me as much as I did her, but she'd not even consider it until I changed my ways. Honesty, no more treating everything as a game to be played… true commitment to our work," he paused, the corner of his mouth tilting up ruefully. "That as long as I continued to… see…. other women, then she was free to do so as well." The knife in his hand stilled, as he looked at Elena in askance when she laughed heartily at his last words.

"As effective today as it was forty-three years ago," Elena told him, nodding knowingly. Remington lay his hands flat on the counter, leaning his weight against them, the look on his face altering from puzzled to stunned.

"You and Marcos?" he asked. Elene nodded.

"He needed to understand that I was tired of waiting for him to grow up. I needed a man with whom to share life, not a boy who needed to be led through it. Your Laura, it seems, was saying the same to you, Xenos," she observed.

"Too smart for her own good, as I said," he agreed. He turned when she approached him and leaned down to her smaller stature when she took his cheeks in her hands.

"I see the change she has brought in you, Xenos. Like Marcos, you've become a man." She brushed his hair back off his forehead, then pulled his head down to buss him on the forehead before releasing him. "The nervous energy is gone. The carousing is gone. There is a peace about you I have not seen in you before. You have purpose."

"All Laura's doing, I assure you," he acknowledged. "She has put herself and all that she has created on the line for me more times than I can count. I've let her down more times than I care to admit, yet she continues to stand by me. Even when I left, she came to find me…" he took a deep breath, as the memory threatened to choke him up, "…to bring me home. No one in my life has ever done that for me."

Elena watched him at length, considering all that he'd said, then reached into her pocket and took out a small, blue, satin bag. Taking Remington's hand, she placed it there, then folded his fingers over it. "Marcos and I want you to have these," she told him, patting his hand. "For our son and the wife who brings you the love we'd always hoped you'd find."

He stilled for a moment, staring at the small bag. Moving across the room to sit on a barstool at the counter, he sat down then opened the bag, dumping the contents into his hand. Two platinum bands, one for a woman and the other for a man, lay there. They were clearly heirlooms, scribed in the center, with a large diamond inlaid on the man's ring and a series of diamonds along the top and bottom of the woman's. He was stunned by the gift, and left nearly speechless, he stumbled over trying to find the words.

"Elena, I can't…"

"Nonsense," Elena interrupted him. "Marcos and I have made our decision."

"Elena, these are clearly family heirlooms."

"They are," she acknowledged with a sharp nod.

"Then I can't accept them."

"Xenos, these rings have been in Marcos' family for nearly two hundred years. They are to be passed down to a family member who finds a great love, a love like those who wore the rings before them," Elena touched Remington's cheek gently before continuing. "You and your Laura, we believe to have that. There is a peace in you, that we both feared you would never find. There is hope in you, where there used to be none. There is love in your heart, where there used to only be loss. Read the inscription in the rings and only if you can then tell me it is not true, will I allow you to return them to me."

Elena turned back to the stove to allow him time to read the inscriptions and to make his choice.

Picking up the man's band first, he searched inside for the inscription. When he found it – _Agapi mou, Zoi mou_ \- it took him a moment to translate, but when he had, he simply nodded his head, almost in resignation, then laid it down. The inscription stated the truth of what Laura had been to him, was to him, for nearly four years now. Picking up the woman's ring, he stilled as he examined it. _Kismet,_ were the only words that would come to his dazed mind. Looking inside, he found the same inscription, and could only hope that it held true for Laura as well.

Standing, Remington walked over to Elena and grabbed her in a hug. "Thank you," he told the older woman, and kissed her on the cheek.

* * *

"Marcos, what was Reming… Xenos… like when he was here as a boy?" she asked him, as they walked the paved pathways that wended through the cave houses dug into the volcanic rock of the cliffs. Marcos rubbed a hand along the underside of his chin several times before answering.

"Do you know how he came to be with us, Laura?" he asked.

"You found him stowed away on your ship," she answered with a nod. He held out his hand, indicating they should take a path that forked right.

"When I found him, he was terribly ill. There were many a night I lay awake wondering had brought such a young child to be in the state that he was. Terribly thin, not speck of color to his skin. Yet, it was his eyes that haunted me. I can't remember a time before or since that I've ever seen a child that had all but given up – sad, alone, scared… though he tried to hide it. A scrapper even when he could barely stand from the fever and lack of nourishment, for how long only the good Lord knows."

He stopped in front of a small white house, held his hand out to it.

"I brought him home, here at the time. He took to Elena and my children immediately," he continued, taking Laura by the elbow and leading her back towards the direction from which they'd come. "Me? Those eyes watched me warily for weeks after he'd arrived. If I moved too suddenly, he would flinch. It became all too clear that someone had used a quick, hard hand on him before he took to the streets." He shifted his eyes to give Laura a sideways glance, before touching her on the arm, to guide her to turn. "Many nights I dreamed of finding whoever it was that had done that to him and giving to them what they'd given to him. Has he ever told you..." Marcos' voice trailed off on the question. She nodded somberly.

"I know of two. The last 'cousin' with whom he'd lived before running, later the priest at the orphanage where he'd stayed a short while." Marcos' fists clenched and unclenched at the answer.

"A man of the cloth abusing a child in his care. There will be a special place in hell for him, I hope, and it would be my pleasure to send him there," he stated vehemently, his cheeks turning red in his anger. He cleared his throat, then looked at her apologetically. "I'm sorry, Laura, I shouldn't…" She lay her hand on his arm.

"I'm familiar with the sentiment… I've had it a time or two myself," Laura assured him. Marcos patted the hand that lay on his arm and gave her a smile.

"Xenos was with us for a little over a year. After those first weeks, he began to understand that while we had firm expectations of our children, we guided with love, not fear." He stopped walking and turned to face the church in front of him, or so Laura believed at first. "We enrolled him here in school," he nodded to the wing off the right side of church, "and though it was clear his schooling had been… inconsistent… in the past, Elena worked with him in the evenings and he caught up quickly. The boy's mind was a sponge, hungry for knowledge, and soon he was the best student in his class, particularly fond of literature, history. On weekends, of course, he attended Mass with the family at Saint Nicolaus Peramataris. We had him baptized in case it had not been done before and he attended Catechism classes just like our other children." He nodded that they should continue on around the side of the church, the pathway ending at an archway that overlooked the Aegean below. He leaned against the rail, Laura joining him.

"We wanted our children to be well-rounded, Elena and I. It was expected that each would choose an art in which they would be trained, and a physical activity in which to participate. For Melina, it was piano and dance; all three boys played football; and for Xenos? Art. He attended class each Saturday morning and once he began, he'd often disappear for hours at a time. We'd find him here," he told Laura, turning to look at her, "with his sketchbook and pencil or charcoal. It was clear, even then, that he was naturally gifted." She nodded.

"We had a case a couple years back involving a comic strip writer and artist. Rem-… Xenos… drew a series of strips to help frame the murderer. I was… amazed… at how effortless it was for him, yet his work was… Stunning." Marcos' face lit up at her words.

"He still draws then?" She looked at the man, seeing the hope on his face. Lip parted, brows raised, she shook her head in the negative and raised her shoulders.

"Outside of… indulging… himself with the movies he's addicted to," she answered thoughtfully, "I think most of his life has been spent learning and honing the skills he needed for whatever… life… he was leading at the time. Even with me," she admitted. "But just like I take time, where I can find it, to play the piano, dance and run, maybe he needs to be encouraged to take time for something that he seems to have enjoyed as well." The musing took on a life of its own in her mind, and she turned to Marcos, excitement in her eyes. "Marcos, is there a store in the village where I can buy what he'd need?" The older man assessed her for a moment, then nodded.

"Yes, of course," he answered, then with a touch to her arm indicated they should begin walking again. "Laura, what do you know of my son's life after he left us?" She tilted her head, regarded him speculatively.

"You really do think of him as your son, don't you?" she wondered aloud.

"Xenos may not have been born to us, but in the time he was with us, he became the son of our hearts, mine and Elena's," he confirmed. "He broke our hearts when he ran. Elena wept inconsolably for weeks, demanding that I find him, bring him back to us." The older man's eyes misted at the memories, his face contorting with the heartbreak the memory stirred to life. "I've never failed Elena in anything but this. I searched for months, reaching out to every contact I had. But a small boy is too easily lost, gone unnoticed in the shuffle of the world. When no word of his welfare ever reached us, we feared the worst. It was not until he returned to us at twenty, that peace was restored to our hearts." Laura blinked her eyes rapidly at the older man's words, emotions, yet even still wetness slipped past the lashes of an eye. She swept it away forcefully, then took a deep breath through pursed lips before speaking.

"You tried to find him." It was the only words she could manage under the circumstances. Marcos looked at her with unadulterated curiosity.

"He was our son then, our son now. What else were we to do but to try to bring him home?" he asked almost defensively. Laura lay her hand on his arm.

"That's not what I meant," she assured him. "He thought… thinks… no one but I have ever tried to find him and bring him home, for no reason other than his presence. There have been too many people in his life that have only sought him out for what they could get from him. Help on a con, an art heist… for money," she tried to explain. "I thought after he told me about his time here with you, that you might have tried to find him. To know that you did…" She gripped his arm to stop him from walking, then turned into his arms and hugged him tight. "Thank you," she whispered. His arms tightened around her, nodding in response before letting her go. They resumed walking, but only after several strides did he hand her into a little store and direct her towards the back.

"Our Xenos…" Marcos began, then paused to clear his emotion cluttered throat, "… he has told you about us then?"

"You were the first real piece of his past he ever shared with me," she confirmed, as she selected several items from the shelves. "He had given me small, partial answers before that, but more to explain a situation we found ourselves in. But you? The night after a suspect blew up my house, he told me the story of the night your ship exploded out in the harbor. It was you… and him, of course… that helped me make it through that time of my life."

"Me?" he asked, shocked, as they walked to the register.

* * *

 _ **'Because, Xenos because from now on - everything is new again, eh? Eh? Just *think* of the possibilities.'**_

* * *

"It's what you told him the night your ship exploded, what he told me the night after my house was taken from me," she remembered. "It was those words that carried me through that time, that have carried me through hard times later on. You gave me hope." Purchase paid for they left the store, and based on the direction in which they traveled, walked towards the house.

"Guests will be arriving soon," Marcos confirmed her suspicions. "It would not do to have one of the guests of honor nowhere to be found. Tell me Laura, when did you and our son marry?" She glanced at him, trying to decide how honest to be, then shrugged. This was family. _Not that I'd tell my family the truth,_ she thought. _Oh, ho, no._

"We're not really married, at least not according to the letter of the law," she answered. Marcos focused on not the words she spoke, but on the body language of the one speaking them. He remained silent, waiting for her to continue, sensing there was more. She gave her head a small shake, then sighed. "Someone with a grudge turned Mr. …. Xenos… in to Immigration. Unless he married by six p.m. on the day we said our vows, he'd be deported. So, he… manufactured… the blood tests, the license. We hopped on a tuna trawler, went out into international waters, and there you have it."

"Do you love my son, Laura?" Marcos asked, still focusing on the nuances that told the true tale.

"When he's not driving me crazy," she laughed, then sobered, "and even then. He has the best heart of anyone I've ever known. He may not always make the right choices, but they're always guided by the right reasons." He nodded.

"You said your vows before God, yes?" he asked. She acknowledged that they had. "Then in God's eyes you are married, paper or not. What matters now is only this: Are you married in your hearts?" She didn't even have to hesitate to consider her answer before she gave it.

"We are, despite how it came about. But then, I guess it was to be expected and although it is not the story I'd prefer to tell our children one day, if we have any, it is somehow…fitting," she laughed.

"How is it 'fitting'?" he asked with open curiosity.

"How we met, our… romance, our marriage. None of it is has been traditional, the beginning and the end both having to be kept secret," she pondered.

"Why must they remain a secret?" Laura shrugged.

"To tell the truth of how we met would mean revealing he has not always been Remington Steele. In doing so, we would risk exposing his past, and the price for that could be far too high. I'm not willing to risk losing him just to tell a pretty story." He hummed his understanding.

"And the last?" She tilted her head towards him.

"There's nothing that can be done to change the last. It is what it is. What matters is that we're married, and frankly, I don't know that _either_ of us would have ever gotten past ourselves and our fears long enough to admit this is what we wanted all along. In a way, this 'fake' marriage of ours, was a blessing in disguise." She fell silent, stunned by her own admission. She'd never, once, thought about their 'wedding' in that way before, had never even been aware her subconscious clearly had been. They stopped at the front door of the house when Marcos took her elbow, holding her back from opening the door.

"Thank you, Laura," he told her with sincerity. She cocked her head and looked at him confused.

"For what?" He bussed each of her cheeks.

"For loving our son as you do," he answered, pulling her into a bear hug that knocked the breath out of her before he released her, laughing. Opening the door, they entered the house as Remington crossed through the living room, on his way to their bedroom to see if she'd returned. A wide grin lit his face when he saw her.

"Mrs. Steele, I presume?" he teased as he approached her.

"In the flesh," she agreed with an answering smile. "You wouldn't happen to know where my husband is, would you _Xenos_?"

"Oh, I think if you use your admirable skills as a detective, you might be able to find him," he laughed.

"An excellent suggestion. I think I'll just start in our room…" she answered, raising a brow at him. He followed behind her, watching the sway of her hips, relieved to see that, at least momentarily, he seemed to be off the hook for her sunburned bottom. He closed the door behind him when they entered the room. Laura dropped the bag she carried on the dresser then turned, and pressed herself up on the balls of her feet, wrapping her arms around his neck. With a wide smile, he circled his arms around her waist and pulled her to him.

"Your mood certainly seems to have improved," he noted. A hand left his neck and moved to skim through the hair on the side of his head.

"Kiss me," she demanded softly. The smile left his face, replaced with a look of such tenderness that she inhaled softly.

"You should take walks with Marcos more often," he murmured as his lips descended towards hers. Their lips touched, tasted, melded, the kiss never deepening to passion, but was instead fed by emotion. When he at last withdrew, their eyes held. His hand flipped her hair over her shoulder, then stroked the side of her neck.

"Are you ready to go face the masses, Mrs. Steele? I understand there is a celebration of our marriage under way." Grasping the hand at her neck lightly, she smiled up at him.

"I think it's well past time that it be celebrated, don't you?" She brushed her lips against his again, before reluctantly disentangling herself from his arms. With a tug she led him towards the bedroom door.

His eyes caught sight of the bag lying on the dresser on his way past. "What did you pick up in town?" he asked out of mild curiosity.

"Later," was her one-word answer, the bedroom door closing behind them.

* * *

By seven, the party was in full-swing at the Androkus home. Laura had been introduced to so many cousins, aunts, uncles, friends and neighbors that her head was spinning. But she managed to keep close the names of two of the most important people in Remington's world here: the two men he considered to be brothers. Zeth, two years Remington's senior, stood nearly a half a foot shorter than he. Built like Marcos, he was wide, burly and dark-haired, and had perhaps the kindest pair of green eyes that Laura had ever seen. A soft-spoken man, he welcomed her warmly to the family, before turning to Remington.

"You cost me a small fortune, Xenos," he admonished. Remington threw back his head and laughed before pulling the man in for a hug. With a slap on Zeth's back, he stepped back to stand next to Laura again.

"Don't be too hard on yourself. You bet on the sure thing. Who could have predicted that kismet had other ideas?" he asked, as he slipped his hand around Laura's waist, drawing her partly in front of him. "Where is Calista this evening?" Zeth gave an aggravated sigh.

"Melina ran off with her the minute we arrived, of course. It appears there is gossip other than your marriage that must be attended to."

"And the twins?" Zeth puffed out his chest with pride.

"You've been gone too long, Xenos. There will be six soon. Thankfully, another set of twins is not on the horizon for us this round." Remington chuckled. "They're off with their cousins, getting into trouble I imagine. I'd best go check on them while their mother is otherwise occupied. I'll be back shortly."

Laura glanced up at Remington and mouthed, 'six kids?' He shrugged his shoulders. "They only had the twins the last time I was here." Lifting his drink to his mouth, he took a swallow, choking on it when a hand came down hard on his back. Sputtering, he spun on his heel, tucking Laura behind him, instinctively going into protect mode. When he took in the man that now stood in front of him, he glowered.

"Christos, I believe I've warned you before that such antics will find you taking a swift right one of these days," he mock growled.

"As though I'm afraid of you, big brother," he taunted, grabbing Remington up in a bear hug and kissing him soundly on each cheek. "It's been far too long, Xenos. But, I must say, given the tiding you arrived with, well worth the wait." While Remington had an inch or so on the dark-haired man, Christos was as broad as Remington was slim; whereas Remington was all long, lean muscle, Christos was hulking bulk. Laura wasn't sure who she'd bet on in a fight.

"Betting against me then, were you, Chris?" Remington asked drolly.

"You know me, always going against the tide. Better to win big than lose little. So, are you going to introduce me to your wife, so she can discover who the true catch in this family is?" Remington laughed and shook his head.

"Somehow, I doubt you'd be so bold in saying that if Helen were standing next to you," Remington noted with a raised brow. "Laura, Christos, my ill-manner brother. Christos, my wife, Laura. And don't even try anything with her. She's set down better than you, believe me." Christos grabbed lifted Laura from the ground, hugging her hard, before setting her back down on her feet.

"Tell me, Laura," he said, as he lifted a drink off a passing tray, "how did my scalawag brother manage to convince you to date, let alone marry him?" Laura raised a brow at the man as he took a healthy swig of his drink.

"He was so dull and stuffy I thought I should teach him how to loosen up," she deadpanned with a straight face. This time it was Christos who choked on his drink, looking first at her with a stunned face then Remington. It was only when he saw the corners of Remington's lips quirk that he realized he'd been had. He laughed loudly.

"Not one of Xenos's mindless inamoratas then I see." He blithely ignored Remington's glare. Laura laughed.

"I should hope not."

"Something tells me you gave Xenos a run for his money," he mused.

"Past tense?" she challenged, with another lift of her brow.

"Intend to keep him on his toes then, do you?"

"Somebody has to," she confirmed.

"Sounds to me like you have him well in hand. About time someone did," Christos chuckled.

"I wouldn't go as far as that. Xenos can be very… slippery… when he wishes to be." Remington looked at Laura askance before giving his brother another scowl for good measure.

"I'm standing right here, in case you haven't noticed," he commented drolly. Laura patted her hand, placatingly, against his arm.

"Of course you are, darling" she drawled playfully, looking at him in surprise when she felt him stiffen under her hand, his arm jerking away from her hand. His face remained placid as he looked at Christos.

"Should I ask where Helen is, or is her absence self-explanatory?" Remington asked Christos, changing the subject at hand.

"If you suspect Melina has made away with her, you'd be correct," Christos laughed.

"And the girls?"

"Addy, Bronte, Colette and Eirene are on the terrace with Mama eating dinner. Daph is home with Helen's mom with a bit of a cold."

"I could use a bite to eat myself. Laura?" Remington asked. Carefully blanking her face so that he wouldn't see her confusion about his response to her earlier, she nodded.

"I'm famished," she admitted.

"Let's, then." Laying his hand on the small of her back, he guided her towards the terrace. When they had cleared Christos's hearing, she whispered fiercely to him.

"What was that about back there?" He sighed, knowing he'd been out of line in his reaction. He ducked his head down near her ear as they continued to walk.

"If you'll just accept my apology for now, I'll explain after dinner." She looked at him, saw the strain around his eyes, not understanding why it was there, and nodded.

"You're lucky I'm hungry," she teased, hoping relieve his tension. He grinned down at her.

"For once that appetite is working in my favor instead of against." She lifted her brow.

"And here I thought my appetite for you always worked in your favor," she answered, drawing a tantalizing line down the center of his chest with a finger. He groaned low in his throat in response to her words and touch.

"Not playing fair again, Mrs. Steele?" Laura's lips lifted in an impish grin.

"I believe it was you that I was hoping I'd rid myself of all my 'bloody little inhibitions,' Mr. Steele," she reminded him on a laugh.

"That was before I realized you'd used your considerable… skills… to bedevil me at every turn," he griped playfully.

"Well…." Laura answered, drawing out the word, "… I suppose I could always crawl back into my shell, resist the impulses, tamp down the desire…" She laughed when Remington tugged her to the left side of the veranda, and, arms wrapping around her, tucked them into a somewhat secluded corner.

"Well, when you put it like _that_ ," he said gruffly, his lips caressing hers softly, interspersed between his words, "It is my… husbandly duty… to sacrifice… myself… for my wife's… happiness." His mouth settled over hers, deepening the kiss, leaving them both short of breath when they parted. He stared into her passion dazed amber eyes, nearly missing the glint of mischievousness that flashed through them.

"I'll have to remember that," she whispered. He leaned down to kiss her again, then with second thoughts, pulled away.

"This'll do neither of us a bit of good right now," he muttered, wishing it were otherwise. "Let's get some _food_ into you, Mrs. Steele." Grabbing her hand as her laugher trickled across the evening air, he pulled her across the veranda to the buffet.

"If you insist, Mr. Steele." She followed along behind him with a smile on her face.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 4: Agapi Mou, Zoi Mou

They walked together down to the lower level of the veranda. Tucked down further on the cliff, with an open view of the Aegean below, this part of Marcos and Elena's house was strictly off limits during parties. Long ago, the older couple had recognized that alcohol and pools did not mix after a family member had fallen in and almost drowned following one too many. Needing a quiet place to speak with Laura for a little while, Remington had asked for and been given permission to journey down, with Elena's solemn promise that she would prevent anyone from following. Circling the pool so that the water below would be laid out before them, Laura leaned down and unclasped her heels, leaving them behind as she went to sit down at the edge of the pool where she could dangle her legs in the inviting water. Deciding her idea was an excellent one, Remington toed off his own shoes, then after removing his socks, rolled up the legs of his pants. Sitting down next to her, his legs joined hers in the water.

"So," Laura began, "What was that about earlier, when we were with Christos?" Remington sighed. He'd hoped she'd forgotten or would simply let it go. _I should have known better,_ he admitted to himself, _the detective in her will not rest until she has the answers._ He shook his head. This was not the conversation he'd hoped to have when he brought her here, but have it they would.

"The name you called me, nothing more, nothing less." Laura thought back to the conversation, trying to recall what she'd said. She referred to him as Xenos many times throughout the evening, believing it would be easier than explaining to everyone they spoke to why she called him by Remington. But not once had he reacted negatively to her use of the name. Then what?

"Darling?" She felt his tension even now at the name. "Putting aside that I was only joking when I used it, why does it bother you so much?"

"It is the… endearment…," he had to force the last word across his lips, "… used towards me by nearly every woman that has simply wanted … something… from me… to manipulate me. Shannon, Felicia… Anna. Hearing it coming from you?" He blew out an aggravated puff of air. "I don't know, Laura.'

"Alright, then it won't be used between us… in jest or otherwise."

"Is it really going to be that easy? No logic. No demands for sound reasoning?" he asked, truly puzzled.

"Haven't you given me a good reason?" she countered. "I felt your reaction when I said it. Isn't it reason enough, logical enough, that I don't want to make my husband feel like that over a word that is unnecessary in our lives?" Her words gave him pause as he mulled them, then he smiled.

"Yes, I suppose it is, at that," he agreed, sweeping her hair back over her shoulder to press a kiss against her collarbone. His smile widened when he heard her sharp intake of breath, felt it when her body reacted to the mere touch of his lips against her skin. He was tempted to continue along her collarbone, to her neck, to keep her wrapped up in a sensual haze for the conversation he needed to have with her, but dismissed the idea. Instead, he sat back up and stared out across the water as she was.

"Laura, where are we?" he asked. Laura turned her head to look at him.

"I'm not sure what you mean." He blew out a small puff of air, then swiped at his chin with a hand.

"Do you remember years ago, during the Casella's case, when we drove one another absolutely mad and agreed to sixty seconds of total honesty in order to restore our peace of minds?" She tilted her head at him, wondering where he was headed with the question, but nodded.

"Yes." Pulling a leg from the water, he shifted where he sat so he was facing her. Rubbing the back of his neck, worrying that what he was about to suggest could be a grave mistake, he looked at her then dropped his hand in acceptance that he was going to do it anyway.

"Can we do that now? Sixty seconds of pure, unadulterated honesty, no matter the consequences or benefits, though I hope it is the latter." Pulling her legs from the water, she turned and faced him, tucking her legs up under herself.

"Alright, if it's important to you," she answered, trying to quell her suddenly jangled nerves. "Since I'm not sure what this is about, you'll have to start."

"It might be easier if we split this up a bit. Twenty seconds of honesty by the each of us, and once we've said what is needed, questions from the other for the remainder of time. Is that alright with you?"

"That's fine." Nodding, he swiped his hand across his mouth while glancing at his watch. Taking a deep breath and saying a small prayer that the words he needed to say would not fail him, he began with his head and eyes averted from her.

"I know you agreed to this marriage only as a ruse to keep the INS from deporting me. It certainly didn't begin in the way I'd imagined it would…" he turned to look at her fully, wanting her to understand the import of his next words, "… and I'd imagined us precisely here, married, for a long time now and had hoped to be able to bring you around to the idea eventually." Laura's eyes widened in stunned surprise, and was unable to smother her small gasp before it left her mouth. He stumbled at her reaction, feeling the panic that always accompanied expression of emotions creeping in, and swiped a hand through the back of his hair as he looked away again. Laura reached out and laced the fingers of one of her hands with his.

"Go on," she urged quietly. He looked at her then away again, but taking a deep breath tried to keep the panic at bay.

"I don't want a marriage where we go home, put on our Peppler rings, and continue on as we were: a few stolen days a week together, the rest of the time spent alone wishing I were with you. I don't want a marriage where we spend the next two years pretending, playing house, simply waiting on that day when my status is legal and one of us walks away with a smile and a nod." He dared another look at her. Her moist amber eyes were focused on him with an intensity he usually associated with her trying to identify his latest ruse or deception. He sighed, but continued on after a shake of his head, and turning to look away from her again. _For better or worse, Steele old boy, it must be said._ "I want it all, the reality of a true marriage… _with you_. The type of marriage where we start planning where we're going to live together, merging our two lives as one. I want to wake each morning with you next to me and fall asleep with you in my arms each night, knowing that this is as real to you as it is to me. Two years from now I don't want to be planning how we're going to walk away. I want us to be talking about when we're going to have our first child, where we're going to take a second honeymoon to celebrate the INS's departure from our lives." He turned to look at her again, watched as a tear slipped past lashes, and reached up to brush it away, leaving his hand against her face as he finished. "I want it all, Laura. I want a life with you. I want to know for the first time since this… romance… of ours started, that neither of us will ever walk away. For better or worse. Til death do us part." He moved his hand away from her face to lay over a now bent knee, before dropping his head and looking away again. "And I need to know that's what you want too… no turning back… no more running away."

Silence lay between them thick and heavy, as the minute hand on his watch ticked by. It was only after several long seconds had passed that she spoke.

"My turn?" she asked quietly? Remington turned his head to look at her, his face a mask of uncertainty and vulnerability. He nodded.

"Alright," she acknowledged. _You only have one chance to get this right, Holt. You know what you want, all you have to do is say the words and claim it for your own._ She glanced at him, then closed her eyes. _It scares the hell out of me, but it's all that I want anyway._ She took a deep breath and began.

"Like most of our… relationship… I feel like I'm playing catch up. Each time it's been you ready to take the next step forward and me having to sit back, weigh the pros and the cons, only to, in the end, follow my heart anyway." She paused to assess him and seeing his tension, his fear that this was the point that she would draw that line back in the sand, she acted on instinct. Glancing around the veranda, she saw she had few options. Certainly there was no place readily available where they could have this conversation as they normally would back home. So with compromise in mind, she stood and held out her had to him.

"I call time out." He looked at her for the first time since he'd finished, surprise written on his face.

"Time out?" he asked, baffled. She nodded.

"Come with me." With a questioning look he took her hand and stood then followed behind her as she led them over to the cushioned lounge chairs beyond the pool. "Sit," she directed him. To his credit, on only a raised brow he did as directed, then waited until Laura climbed over him and settled herself between his legs. Automatically, his arms wrapped around her and drew her back to recline against his chest. She felt as much as heard his sigh as he released some of his tension, the physical contact between the two of them a salve to his raw emotions. A self-satisfied smile quirked at the corner of her lips, as she picked up one of his hands in both of hers, and she began to trace his palm, the length of his fingers with a single finger of her own. She felt more tension ease from him and only then settled fully into him.

"Are you ready?" she asked him quietly. She felt, rather than saw his nod. "Alright then… I've been playing catch up again. I did see this marriage as nothing more than a ruse to keep the INS at bay. At first at least. It scared the hell out of me when I realized that it was real from the moment we said our vows… such as they were," she laughed, and felt his silent, answering chuckle. "It took me a little while, but I did catch up." She took a deep breath and let it out. _Here comes the hard part, Holt._ She concentrated on his hand, to soothe herself as much as him.

"I want a real marriage with you, Rem. The one you just described: planning a home together, planning anniversary trips… planning children. Planning our lives… together. Not my life and your life, but _our life._ I need to know that in two years, when the INS leaves our lives, that we are going to wave goodbye to them but not each other. I want to know that when I fall asleep with you at night and wake to you in the morning, that it's because it's where you want to be, not because of a con we're running on the INS. I don't want to go home, put on our Peppler rings and play house. I want it all. I want you. For better, for worse, 'til death do us part."

He'd stilled behind her during her last sentence. Silence, hopeful silence, spanned between them as the minute hand on his watch ticked by. Finally, it was he that broke the silence.

"Are you sure, Laura?" She continued to trace his hand, amazed at how… calm… she felt after she'd spoken the words.

"I am. Are you?" Remington closed his eyes, unable to quite believe that she'd not only acknowledged what she wanted, but had lay claim to it. Pressing his lips hard against the top of her head, he removed his hand from hers to fish from his pocket the pouch Elena had given him earlier that evening. Extracting the rings from the pouch he took a deep breath, then held them before her in his open palm.

"I am."

Laura stared at the rings, stunned, not sure what to say or do. Sitting up, she turned around to face, him, looking first to him, then the rings, then back to him again.

"When did you get us rings?" She looked back at the rings, then hesitantly picked one up examining it closely.

"I didn't. They're gifts, from Elena and Marcos." She looked up at him and smiled, returning her attention to the ring, noting the intricate etching, the weight of it. Remington had taught her enough across the years to recognize that the ring's quality of design and weight attested to it having been made in another time, where craftsmanship was a matter of honor.

"They must be a hundred-years old," she commented, looking back up at him again. He smiled his approval at the eye she'd been developing over the years.

"Closer to two, actually. They've been in the family for generations, only to be passed down to a couple who 'share a great love.' I tried to return them, as they should stay in the family, but Elena challenged me, told me I could only return them if the inscription within were not true." Glancing at him, Laura turned the ring into the light so that she could examine the inscription.

"' _Agapi mou, Zoi mou,'"_ she read aloud, then looked at him, puzzled. "I know the expression is 'It's Greek to me,' but I think this really _is_ Greek. What does it mean?" He gave his ear a tug, then reached out to finger a strand of her hair, needing the physical contact to gain some equilibrium.

"Roughly translated?" he asked. "'My love, my life.' I…" he cleared his throat, then continued in a gruff voice, "I do love you, Laura. Even more than you may ever realize, I think. The words may never come easily to me, but it doesn't mean I don't feel them. Perhaps the ring can serve as a reminder of that when I can't say it myself." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Opening his eyes, he looked at her again. "I couldn't give the rings back to Elena, because it's true. You are my love, my life. You're everything to me." He leaned into her, his lips finding hers, to touch, to taste.

Laura was tremoring by the time he was done, his words, his touch destroying her natural ability to be icy calm on command. She held the ring out in the palm of her quaking hand. "Will you do the honors, _Mr. Steele_?" He took the ring from her with an equally shaky hand.

"It would be my absolute pleasure, _Mrs. Steele_ ," he intoned, while picking up her left hand and sliding the ring on it. Raising her hand to his mouth, he held his lips against palm, finger and ring. "With this ring then, eh?" Laura smiled tremulously at him. When he released her hand she picked up his ring to examine the interior of it. She looked at him, her smile widening when she found the inscription was the same as her own.

"I know I don't always show it well, but I do love you," she told him, blinking against the moistness in her eyes. "I came to London to bring you home, because I realized my life was so much less without you in it. I married you, because I didn't want to imagine a life that didn't include you every morning and each night. On those days that I forget to show you what you mean to me, when I'm too hard on you, hopefully this ring will remind you that I know. You are my love, the best part of my life." She slid the ring on his finger, then mimicking his actions pressed her lips against palm, finger and ring. Remington slid his hand free of hers, then gently grasped both side of her face in his hands.

"Come here, Laura," he whispered, pulling her towards him. Shifting to her knees, Laura leaned into him, their lips meeting in soft caresses. When her hands found the back of his neck, her fingers toying with the hair at his collar, he hummed deep in his throat. Moving a hand to press against the back of her head he deepened the kiss, teasing and tempting until he had her body humming. The kiss ended only when they needed air more than contact. His mouth immediately moved to the column of her neck, trailing nip-kisses along its length as a hand stroked her back from neck to bottom. She pressed her body against his, hands tangling in his hair. With a groan of regret, he broke the kiss and set Laura away from him.

"As much as I'd prefer little more than to ravish you," he said, climbing to his feet and holding out a hand to her, "We've a party to get return to." Leaning down to give her another quick kiss, when his eyes glanced over her flushed skin, swollen lips and passion-dazed eyes his resolve nearly broke. Rubbing a hand against the back of his neck, he unconsciously took a step back towards her. She stepped back with a laugh, and grabbed his hand in hers.

"Party, Mr. Steele. Remember? Guests of honor?" she teased. Giving his head a little shake to clear it, he smiled down at her, releasing her hand to lay it against the small of her back.

"A party to celebrate our nuptials? How could I forget, Mrs. Steele? Shall we?" he asked, holding his hand out indicating she should precede him up the stairs, so they could join the guests above.

* * *

Remington leaned against a pillar on the veranda, sipping the glass of Ouzo held in hand while Laura took a turn on the dance floor with yet another Androkus cousin. The men of the family had fairly flocked around her since they'd returned to poolside and he'd barely had a moment alone with her. Rather a frustrating turn of events as the party was supposed to be in celebration of their marriage, and that would seem to imply his wife would be by his side.

"I must say, Xen, I never thought I'd find you holding up a wall, pining away for a woman," came the booming voice of Christos as he approached with Zeth.

"Not pining, merely observing," Remington corrected. "It appears a few gentlemen, and I use the term quite loosely, have not outgrown unwanted, adolescent groping," he commented, watching as Laura gracefully attempted to evade another pair of wandering hands, this time belonging to a thirty-something neighbor of the Androkus's. Waiting until the pair turned, Remington leveled a raised brow on the man that quickly had him taking a step back from Laura, placing a respectable distance between them and settling that wandering hand chastely at her waist. Beside him, his two brothers laughed.

"Nice move, Xen," Christos commended him, "You'll have to teach me that particular trick sometime. Used it often, have you?"

"Only in recent years, and far too frequently for my liking, truth be told," Remington drawled, lifting his glass for another drink.

"Losing your edge then, Xen? I seem to recall you were never concerned about competition before," Christos mocked in good fun. Remington flipped him a dark look.

"It's not competition that concerns me. I'd simply prefer Laura not have to ward off unwanted attentions by blokes that should know better than to put their hands all over a man's wife."

"I see. It's not competition that has you ready to pounce on Nikolai, but jealousy." Remington now turned a raised brown on Christos.

"I am not in the least bit jealous. That would imply I don't trust Laura, which I do, implicitly." Now it was Zeth that considered him.

"He's right, Christos. He's not feeling jealous, but proprietary," Zeth assessed accurately enough to make Remington shift his stance, while raising his glass for another drink. "Isn't that right, Xenos?"

"She's the only thing I've ever given two damns about holding on to, about making feel happy, secure. If that makes me proprietary, then you're bloody well right I am ," Remington fairly growled, drawing Christos's laughter again.

"I've had the honor of spending a bit of time with Laura this evening," Zeth commented, while assessing her on the dance floor, "Quite a young woman. Intelligent, a keen wit… feisty…" Remington laughed at the last descriptor.

"Oh, you have no idea exactly how accurate an assessment that is, Zeth. Strong-willed, hot-tempered, afraid of nothing and no one," he said with pride.

"…And fiercely protective of _you,"_ Zeth continued, noting Remington's averted eyes at the last comment, "neatly sidestepping any questions she believed could place you at risk or violate your confidence." Remington merely hummed his acknowledgement. "How long have you known Laura, Xenos and how much does she know?"

"We've been partners for going on five years now and nearly the whole of it. There's a matter or two of which she is unaware, but only because she's never thought to ask the question."

"And you would provide the answers to those if asked?"

"I trust Laura implicitly; I believe I've already stated as much. I've nothing to hide from her and even if I wished to, she'd get it out of me eventually. Quite persistent, my Mrs. Steele," he noted on a laugh.

"I think you've just provided the answer to the question everyone has wondered about at some point or other since hearing the news of your marriage, Xen," Christos said thoughtfully.

"Oh, and what question is that?"

"How this little bit of a thing from America managed to place the shackles on you, where so many others had failed."

"And what is the answer that you've come to?" Remington asked lifting an amused brow.

"She persisted, despite your well known aversion to commitments, and finally wore you down," Christos answered smugly.

"Mmmm," Remington hummed non-committedly while dropping his empty glass on a passing tray. "And like you, if that is what they believed, they'd be quite wrong." He pushed himself off of the pillar as he saw Laura departing the dance floor, heading in his direction. "It was not Laura who did the chasing, it was I that finally wore _her_ down after four years of trying. She was the impossible challenge. Speaking of which," he gave a nod towards his approaching wife, "If you'll excuse me."

Remington left his stunned brothers staring at one another, and moved to join Laura halfway across the room.

* * *

"Finally freed yourself from the masses of your admirers I see," he teased. Laura flashed him a smile.

"Hmmmm, I did. Do you think I might be able to convince a certain handsome, blue-eyed Irishman to join me for a dance?"

"I imagine he could be persuaded, if, that is, you have an opening on your dance card," he replied, taking her by the hand and leading her back to designated dance floor.

"I think I might be able to squeeze him with proper incentive." Laura tilted her chin upwards in a hint when Remington took her in his arms on the dance floor. Her eyes closing in anticipation of the texture and taste of him, his lips descended towards hers slowly, then veered away just short of contact.

"I might need to reconsider the wisdom of what you're suggesting, Mrs. Steele. It is, after all, my understanding that your husband has made his displeasure clear to any man that has attempted to take unwelcome liberties with you this evening." Laura's hand glided up his back to toy with his hair, while giving him a sultry smile.

"But any liberties you might choose to take would be most welcome, so I'm quite certain _you_ wouldn't incur his displeasure." His hand flipped her hair over neck, long fingers finding the back of her neck, drawing her close.

"Well in that case…" His lips brushed softly against hers, then taking a step closer as his hand moved downwards to press between her shoulder blades to draw her nearer, his lips settled more firmly over hers, only to jerk away when someone cleared a throat next to them. Both heads turned to find Melina staring at them.

"I see your timing and manners remain abominable, Melina," Remington scolded, earning an impertinent smirk from the young woman, clearly not the least bit put off by his candid remark. Blithely ignoring any further attempts by him to speak, Melina grabbed Laura's hand from where it rested on his arm, and gave it a tug.

"Papa told me you play, Laura," Melina told her excitedly. "I've been trying to find someone to perform a duet with me for the longest time now," she babbled as she pulled Laura along with her, "You simply must play with me…"

Casting a helpless look towards Remington, who shoved his hands in his pockets and stood scowling after Melina, Laura allowed herself to be dragged away. Only after a few choice descriptors of Melina floated through his mind, did he trail behind in their wake, arriving in the living room as the two young women took a seat next to one another on the piano bench. Laura scanned quickly over the score before her then gave Melina a nod. Moments later the first strands of Pachelbel's _Canon in D_ wafted through the room. Remington quickly forgot his disgruntlement at the interruption of their private moment, and watched his wife with a pride that was evident to all around him.

As the last strands of music faded, applause erupted around the room while numerous guests demanded a second performance. Melina, clearly delighted, looked at Laura hopefully. Laura turned and sought out Remington, knowing that she'd left him to his own devices most of the evening and that he'd been anything but happy when the little time they had found together was interrupted by Melina. With a nod, so subtle that only she would notice and a pursing of his lips indicating a kiss sent her way, she turned to Melina. After a few words from her, Melina quickly found another selection, and soon Mozart's lively _Sonata in D Major_ filled the room.

"She plays beautifully, Xenos. She must have had considerable training," Marcos commented from where he stood next to Remington. Remington looked at Marcos, surprised that he hadn't heard his approach. _You're slipping, old sport. There was a time that wouldn't have happened._

"I've no idea," he answered, shocked to realize that was true. He was well-aware that Laura had taken years of dance instruction, but this? _How do I not know the answer to this? What more do I not know, that I haven't taken the time to ask, but have only assumed?_ The thought bothered him tremendously. To Marcos he said, "I guess I've just assumed that it was something she'd picked up along the way. Playing is an important part of her life, that much I know. When her house was bombed, it was seeing the piano her grandmother had given her, burnt and lying in the ashes, that broke her. It was one of the few gifts I've ever given her – a piano to replace the one lost to her. Perhaps the most important thing I've ever given her, other than time."

"Time?" Marcos queried with quiet curiosity. Remington glanced at him then nodded before his eyes returned to Laura at the piano.

"Mmmmm," he hummed. "Time to trust that she'd not turn around one day and find me gone. Time to realize that what was between us from the very first was meant to be. Time to believe that we didn't have an expiration date but a future." He watched Laura for several long moments, a light slowly brightening his eyes. "Time to accept that neither of us is quite whole without the other, that we complete one another."

Applause scattered across the room again as Melina and Laura wrapped up their last piece. Once more requests for an encore were made, but this time Laura shook her head, declining. It was nearing midnight, a long day in the sun had taken its toll making her weary and, most of all, despite the fact that this was a party to celebrate their marriage, in her opinion she'd spend far too little time with Remington this evening. She gracefully moved across the room, his eyes never leaving her, until she reached his side. His hand slid around her waist as she turned into him, flashing Marcos a smile as she did so.

"Would you care to finish our dance, Mr. Steele?"

"I can think of little I would enjoy more, Mrs. Steele," he answered by way of agreement, smiling down at her.

Taking a step back, Laura leaned over to place a kiss on Marcos's cheek. "I don't think there are appropriate words to express how much we appreciate… no, love… the wedding rings. Thank you," she finished, then unable to resist gave him a hug. Marcos's smile grew a mile wide, as he hugged her fiercely in return.

"The rings found their way to the people that were meant to wear them. It's how it has always been. Wear them well," he advised, bussing each of her cheeks. "Go. Dance. Celebrate."

Marcos's smile followed them as they left the room.

* * *

Laura and Remington did not return to their room until almost 2 a.m. It had been an evening of food, drink and dance. Nearly a hundred family members had crowded into the house to celebrate the marriage of their Xenos to his Laura. _They love her_ , he thought with a smile. She had captivated them with her intelligence, her wit and her laughter. The men had demanded to dance with her, the women to speak with her. He had barely had her to himself for five minutes all night.

He had no idea they loved Laura not only for who she was, but even more for who he was with her. Elena, Marcos and his siblings had surreptitiously watched him all night. They saw how he sought her out across the room, to purse his lips quickly in a kiss when their eyes would catch. They noted when she passed near enough how he would reach out a hand and brush it against her in a fleeting glance. Most telling of all, they watched, whenever he and Laura were able to be near each other's side, how he would step behind her, skim an arm around her waist and pull her to him to rest her back against his chest. It was clear to all who watched how much he loved her.

 _They loved her_ , he raised a brow as he watched her make her way unsteadily down the hall to their bedroom on slightly wobbly legs, _despite the fact the Ouzo was once again her undoing_. They had found it charming that she believed she could drink it straight, while it had taken many of them years of practice, watering it down with ice cold water before that. He'd had to be sly tonight, switching her drink with the watered down variety as toast-followed-toast in rapid succession across the last two hours. Thankfully, the end result was that she was just a bit tipsy, as opposed to thoroughly sloshed as she would have been if not for the sleight of hand.

Remington ducked out of their room to shower as Laura changed. When he returned he found her sitting on the bed, legs tucked to her side with the bag that had been on the dresser lying on the bed near her knees. He eyed the bag with undisguised curiosity as he slid into bed next to her.

"What have you got there?" She glanced at him then back at the bag, fingering it with uncharacteristic nervousness. Although she and Remington hadn't been prone towards spontaneously giving one another gifts over the years, they had still done so on occasion. _I haven't been this nervous since the night he gave me my necklace,_ she thought now. Releasing a breath of tension between slightly parted lips, she picked up the bag and handed it to him, while stumbling over the explanation.

"When Marcos and I went walking today, he told me of how you often used to disappear for hours at a time in order to draw," she watched as he slowly opened the bag, while watching her closely. "The story reminded me of the Wayne case, the strip you drew for the Blaster, and how obviously talented you were. I thought… I mean, I don't want you to think that just because I'm giving this it means you have …" she puffed out a frustrated breath of air, growling slightly, thoroughly vexed that she had no idea how to say what she wanted. _Spit it out, Holt_ , she told herself in mild disgust. "You have a gift. I think you should explore it if that's what you want."

Remington looked at the sketchbook, pencils and charcoals that he'd removed from the bag. He stared at her, stunned, as his hand skated across the pad of paper. Collecting himself, he admitted, "I began drawing again about two months back."

"You did?!"

He nodded as he placed everything back in the bag and sat it on the night stand. She didn't even have to be asked, automatically lying her head on his thigh and stretching out widthwise on the bed when he reclined against the headboard. Picking up his hand, she used her finger to sketch the line of his palm and length of his fingers before speaking again.

"Tell me," she quietly urged.

"When I… left… for London, I can't tell you how often I regretted not having anything but my memories of you to hold on to. It occurred to me, then, that had I been drawing on a regular basis, I would have at least had that to hold onto." He soothed her hair off her forehead when she looked up at him. "When the INS announced themselves, I well remembered that regret and was not going to risk not having something to keep you near, in case the worst came to pass."

"You've been drawing me?" He nodded. She returned her attention to his hand, her finger caressing the band on his finger. "When? I can't think of a single time I've seen you doing anything that remotely resembled sketching."

"When you slept, on our evenings apart." His fingers toyed with her hair. She mulled this over and decided her sensibilities had already been overwhelmed enough for one day. _Another day,_ she thought.

Pushing herself up, Laura shifted to lay on her back next to Remington. Rolling to his side, he leaned down and nuzzled his whiskered cheek against the tender flesh of her neck. Humming contentedly, she turned into him stroking her fingers against his neck drawing from him a hum of his own. Rolling again, he took her with him, lips never leaving her neck, until she was lying stretched across his length. She arched her neck to give him more access, her fingers finding his hair, raking lightly through it. He indulged himself in her taste, the texture of her skin under his lips, mouth, the touch of skin-against-skin for long minutes, never seeking to turn the moment to passion, both reveling in the simple intimacy of the moment. Eventually he dropped his head back to the pillow, brushing her hair over her shoulder, simply to look at her.

"We should get some sleep, love." Fingers found her cheek, skating over the surface of her skin, until they traced a jawline. "We've a very… very… long and exquisitely… delightful… few days ahead of us." She lifted her brows at him, taking his hand in hers, her lips exploring the pads of his fingers.

"Oh, have you made plans for us?" He hummed, the tip of his tongue touching his lips briefly.

"Hmmmmm, I have. You… me… a villa in the South of France…" He palmed the back of her head, drawing her lips to his. Keeping contact he rolled again so that now he lay stretched over her, bearing the bulk of his weight on his forearms, his fingers finding the silk of her hair. With a few tender presses of his lips to hers, he scattered soft kisses across her face. "A private beach… the sounds of the waves lapping against the shore… us… completely… utterly… alone… to do nothing… but enjoy… each other."

"No interruptions?" She murmured, her lips brushing across his bare shoulder, drawing a quiet moan from deep within his throat.

"None whatsoever." Her lips grazed the base of his neck, as long fingers found the row of buttons to a pajama top, freeing them one at a time.

"No phones ringing?" her lips wandered up his neck. He shifted, urged her up, and slid the pajama top off of her, dropping it on the floor.

"I'll unplug them all," he vowed, as she burrowed into his side, drawing a deep sigh of contentment from him at the skin-to-skin contact. She leaned up on elbow to look at him, a finger brushing aside a lock of hair.

"Do you think you can handle having me all to yourself Mr. Steele?" She cocked a brow to him in challenge. "You may well be begging and pleading for mercy by the time I'm done having my way with you."

"Care to make a small wager on who'll be begging whom, Mrs. Steele?" he dared playfully, palming the back of her head and drawing him to her. He kissed her hungrily, his tongue plundering her mouth, leaving her flushed and breathless when their lips parted.

"Mmmmm, I think I do," she answered breathily, drawing a line down his chest with a single finger. She looked up at him through her lashes, a smirk dancing across her lips. "Loser cooks all the meals for the next year," Laura deadpanned. Remington burst out laughing.

"I see I've taught you all too well over the years. Hedging your bets, are you now? My body or my life?"

"Mmmm hmmmm," she hummed, snuggling down against his body until her head found that place between shoulder and chest. "Besides, just imagine how enjoyable it will be before you begin to plead," she murmured, feathering her fingers up his length, then laughing as he groaned.

"Laura…." he growled, her touch sending jolts through his system as he hardened instantly beneath her fingers.

"See, the begging's already begun." Her hand moved to stroke over his ribs, as she settled in to sleep. "Good night, Rem." She laughed quietly as he muttered a small expletive. Nevertheless, he wrapped her in his arms, and glanced a kiss against the top of her head.

"Good night, love," he murmured, in the moment before her soft sigh carried her away. It was many, many long minutes later when he finally managed to settle his raging body then settled into the bed more comfortably and drifted off as well.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 5 : The Cannes Agreement Revisited

They arrived in Cannes shortly after noon. Laura's mood had grown more withdrawn, more pensive the closer their arrival approached, although Remington would be hard pressed to deny his mood was much better. Cannes held anything but happy memories for the two of them. It was here, after all, where he'd stolen the Hapsburg Dagger – yes, to aid an old friend, that was true. Yet the reasons why had made little difference as he'd failed to include her… to trust her. Thus, it was here that she also ended them… the first time. It was here that they'd each both broken the other's heart, though in very different ways. Still the results were the same: they'd both left here wounded, a seemingly impenetrable wall between them that would take months to tear down even as they ached for one another.

It was also here that he'd watched his 250,000 franc finder fee go up in flames when Mildred had racked up 249,000 in gambling debts against his personal credit. Remington snorted quietly in remembrance of that fact.

Daniel's villa in Theoule-Sur-Mer lay nearly half an hour outside of the heart of Cannes, leading him to insist on the necessity on making two stops before they departed the city. Laura reluctantly agreed, wanting to leave Cannes and its memories behind as soon as possible, yet acknowledging the legitimacy of his arguments. Firstly, when they had departed LA for London, they'd packed for the cooler climes of London: wools, tweeds and cashmeres heavily represented in their selection of clothing. Needless to say, it was hardly appropriate for the tropical climates that they had been spending time in since departing Ireland. While Remington had managed to sway Melina to make some quick, but tasteful, purchases for them while they were in Greece, it was time to call a spade and spade and do some shopping – a task the Laura positively loathed, although such a trip in New York City with him had been nothing short of… arousing.

Secondly, as he logically pointed out, unless they wanted to traipse into town for their daily meals, they would need to stock up on provisions. Given the number of weeks Daniel had been away before he… passed… the odds were heavily in favor of his larder being bare.

Thus, there they found themselves, strolling hand and hand down a narrow street that bore a closer resemblance to a cobblestoned alleyway. Laura studied their surroundings doubtfully, glancing from time-to-time at Remington, wondering precisely what he had in mind. This hardly appeared to be an area bustling with clothing stores of the type and quality on which he insisted. He smiled when he caught her looking at him in bewilderment, giving her hand a light squeeze. Only a few steps later, he released her hand, to place his hand on the small of her back, guiding her to the door of a small store front

"Shall we?" he asked with a nod of his head towards the shop.

Laura walked into the store in front of him. The shop was on the small side, but warm and charming. She raised her brow questioningly at him.

"I thought you would particularly enjoy this shop. It is one I've made a point of frequenting whenever I'm in Cannes," he explained.

"Why is that?" she asked curiously with a tilt of her head.

"The owner stocks it with an eclectic combination of vintage, couture, and some rather remarkable original designs tailored to suit. Her taste is impeccable and her talent immeasurable," he summarized with what was meant to be a casual shrug, yet did not hide that he'd grown positively… jittery… since entering the store. She sighed quiet acceptance at what she'd likely be greeted with: another of his tall, voluptuous ex-paramours. Stepping up onto the raised platform next to her she wandered to the far side of the shop to peer through the selections offered.

He knew at only a glance where her thoughts had gone and his lips quirked, amused that, despite their commitment to each other and their marriage, Laura still found the women in his past threatening. _I wonder if she'll ever realize that not a single one of those women could hold a candle to her,_ he mused. He knew, absolutely, that she'd been reading his body language and had written off his discomfiture to introducing her to a former inamorata, whereas the reality was his nervousness was owed only to one thing: this would be the first person from his former life to which he'd introduce… his wife.

"Mon Cherie," the petite and older but stylish woman greeted Remington upon entering the store from the office beyond. "It has been far too long."

He bent down to kiss the woman on both cheeks. "Ah, Chantal, it has indeed. We found we were in need of a few things and since we were in Cannes, of course, I could go nowhere else." He flashed her with a thousand-watt smile, making Chantal laugh.

"Still charming your way across the continent, I see. Some things never change, do they, Cherie? What is it you are hoping to find today?"

"Nearly everything, I would think. At least a half dozen outfits a piece, swimwear, perhaps something suitable for an evening on the town as well, just in case. We'll need any alterations done fairly quickly. If you can avail yourself to have everything ready this evening and sent out to our villa in Theoule-Sur-Mer, I'll compensate you well," he told her with a wink. Chantal laughed again.

"Always in a hurry, Cherie. This too has not changed. Now, who is this we of which you speak? I cannot remember a time at which you've brought someone along to see me before," she noted with open curiosity.

"Come. I'll introduce you. See to it that you spoil her and that she gets whatever she wants or needs."

Walking across the store, he stepped up behind Laura and laid his hand softly on her back. Smiling she turned around to look at him. He took a step back, to make the introductions.

"Laura… Chantal, proprietress of the shop."

Laura smiled warmly and held out her hand to the beautiful older woman, pleasantly surprised to find the woman by no means was what she had expected.

"Your shop is lovely, you must be very proud," Laura complimented.

Stepping behind Laura, he ran a hand around her back to rest at her waist.

"Chantal. This is Laura… my wife."

Chantal started, then covered her surprise quickly. She would have wagered that the handsome rogue whose exploits were well known in Cannes would never commit himself to a single woman let alone settle down.

"Thank you for your kind words, Laura. Now, why don't we look around together. I have some pieces here that would look wonderful on you," Chantal smiled.

Remington leaned down and kissed Laura on the cheek.

"I'll be back. Just going to go grab a few things. _Have fun_ ," he smiled down at her, emphasizing the last two words, then releasing her moved back across the store.

"So what do you like Laura? Couture? Vintage? Originals?"

"Vintage and original, I think."

"Casual or dress?"

"I imagine emphasis on the former, although I might need a piece of two of the latter. I think, for the most part, we'll be keeping ourselves at home where we can finally enjoy an uninterrupted honeymoon," Laura shared.

Chantal smiled. "A honeymoon? How wonderful! How utterly romantic! We will have to keep the romance in mind. Let's see what we can find."

Laura followed Chantal as she plucked a dozen or so pieces from the racks, hanging them near the dressing room, only to return to the racks and pick out at least as many outfits a second time.

Remington returned as Laura was stepping into the dressing room to start trying on Chantal's selections, while the proprietress stood outside the doors waiting to assess alterations on anything she decided to purchase. He approached Chantal, speaking to her quietly for a moment, his hands gesticulating as he described a particular ensemble he had in mind. Chantal nodded, then stepped away to dig through a couple of racks before returning and adding two more pieces to the collection. Remington retreated to lean against a nearby counter where he could watch for Laura to emerge from the dressing room.

When she at last stepped out, she was wearing a pair of chamois colored, form fitting, dress pants topped by a sleeveless white silk shirt with a cowl neckline. Turning, he admired the back of the shirt which dipped deep in the back, leaving most of the skin between her neck and below the shoulders bare. He imagined running his fingers over the bare expanse of skin, and gave an appreciative whistle.

"Lovely, Laura. Absolutely lovely."

Laura jumped a little when she realized he was watching, unused to having an audience as she tried on clothes, but as memories of their trip in New York washed over her, her body warmed from head-to-toe. Glancing over her shoulder, she found him leaning against the counter, open admiration on his face.

"You like it, do you?" Maintaining his casual air, he nodded approvingly.

Laura nodded her approval at Chantal and waited while the woman placed pins at the hem of the pants and waist. She stepped back into the dressing room to change, and when she returned she was wearing snow white, light weight crepe broomstick skirt, the waist slung low at her hips, as the hem circled around her ankles coupled with a loose fitting white crepe off the shoulder shirt that showed off the freckles that crossed her shoulders and chest.

When Remington remained quiet she turned to look at him and found his eyes smoldering. She turned around and laughed, delighted at his response.

"I think this is a given," she told Chantal. As the outfit already fit to perfection and required no alterations, she returned to the dressing room to change again.

Discarding Chantal's next choice, Laura picked up the next selection, unable to recall seeing Chantall picking it out. The top was white brocade halter top trimmed in gold threads, accompanied by a pair of flowing, white silk pants that were pleated in the front. It seemed vaguely familiar to her, and she searched the recesses of her mind trying to recall why. When she recaptured the memory, she laughed.

 _I see you've been making a suggestion or two yourself_ , _Mr. Steele,_ she said to herself.

Not long after she'd ended them in Cannes, they'd been hired to retrieve the body of a wealthy man's young nephew from Malta. Of course, like most of their cases, it was not that simple and they soon found themselves trying to solve the mystery of the Maltese Cross while being pursued by a pair of killers. Laura had brought Mildred along on the trip to act as a buffer between she and Remington as she'd been struggling with her decision to end their personal relationship and knew her resolve might crumble upon finding herself alone with him in another country, in the same hotel.

Yet, she'd packed a sexy little outfit despite her resolve, then put it on for dinner one evening hoping to tempt him. He hadn't even noticed her when she walked into the bar, as he was too busy flirting with Margaret, the temptress and murderer that was trying to lure him into bed so she could snatch the piece of the cross he had in his possession. She'd watched him, surreptitiously throughout the evening, and not once had his eyes flicked towards her with anything close to temptation in them. The experience had left her more than a bit injured and somewhat petulant, the knowledge that it was her decision that had led them to that point being no help at all.

She could admit to herself now that she'd hoped the outfit would entice him into taking her into his arms, and to do his utmost to end the Cannes resolution through a combination of the touch of his hands and lips, but she had clearly put too much distance between them by that point. He appeared to be moving on while she was left standing in the same place, wishing she could go back in time and reverse her decision.

Clearly, though, she reminded herself now, whether she had realized it or not, he had seen what she had worn for him that evening and it had affected him enough that two years later an outfit so similar had appeared in the dressing room.

Laura emerged from the dressing room, her eyes immediately searching him out to see his reaction. While others watching him would have believed that he was still lounging carelessly, she saw the subtle stiffening of his body as she watched his eyes scan hungrily over her bared shoulders before moving to the skin on display between where the top ended and the waist of the pants began. When his tongue flicked out to run over his lips, she found herself drawn to walk across the room to him. Laying her hands on either side of his hips, she looked up at him.

"You seem to appreciate what I'm wearing, Mr. Steele," she told him in a sultry voice, her own amber eyes lit with the desire that had heated her blood the second she saw his reaction.

Remington ran his fingers across the bare skin at her back, before settling his arms around her hips and bringing her closer to him. Dropping his lips next to her ear he whispered, "So much so, Mrs. Steele, that I want to strip it off you and make love to you on the floor right here and now…just as I wanted to do in Malta."

She blushed furiously at both his words and his admittance to how he'd felt those years before. Pressing herself up on her tip toes, she held her lips next to his ear, purposefully making certain her breath caressed his skin when she spoke. "I was hoping in Malta that you'd do exactly that. Perhaps you'll do better the second time around." He hummed low in his throat in appreciation of that thought, then brushed his lips against hers in a promise.

Extracting herself from his arms, she returned to stand next to Chantal. Turning to look at him, her eyes holding his, she told Chantal, "We'll take it."

An hour later they'd amassed nearly dozen new outfits a piece, swimsuits, and some sexy new lingerie for Laura that she'd had Chantal conceal until later. They departed the store loaded down with bags, with Chantal promising all the items requiring alterations would be delivered to the cottage before eight that evening. Two quick stops at a local butcher's shop and market later, and they were on the way to Daniel's villa.

* * *

Laura watched the villa as it approached, when the car driven by Remington descended the winding, downward sloping drive. She glanced at him, wondering for a moment if he had the address wrong, for this home was not at all she'd envisioned Daniel's taste to be. The villa leaned towards the smaller side, the exterior a nearly terra cotta colored, smooth-trowled stucco, the arched window of the front of the home reminiscent of Spanish architecture. A turret was the focal of the front of the dwelling, while the clay tile roof, carefully maintained landscaping, and the cobbled walkways and deck only added to the overall charm of the home. Her eyes glanced over the pool on the right side of the house but her eyes could not help but be drawn to the panoramic view of the Mediterranean, where boats and yachts of all sizes were moored.

"It's stunning," she breathed. He lay his hand on the small of her back, guiding her towards the front door.

"It certainly is that," he agreed quietly, as he swung open the front door, then stood back to allow her to enter first.

Stepping over the threshold into the open, airy home, Laura found herself amazed once again. Despite the exterior, she'd still expected the interior to be ostentatious – meant to convey a wealth that would allow Daniel's potential targets to feel at ease, make them believe that their host was indeed from their peerage. Instead, she found herself in a home that was just that – homey, comfortable. She looked back over her shoulder at Remington and found him taking in the surroundings the same as she.

"Haven't you ever been here before?" she asked, unable to keep the surprise from trickling through her voice. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he rocked back on his heels.

"No. He purchased the villa shortly after he was in LA… the Hoskin's affair," he answered. "He had a flat in Monte Carlo, a small town house in London that he'd purchased over the years. But his was the dream: 'a modest villa' on the beach in the south of France, where he could live out his last days." She saw the flash of grief and regret, harsh and raw, that crossed his face. Nudging a hand out of his pocket, she twined her fingers with his. "He'd tried any number of times to entice me here for a visit."

"When we were in Cannes?" she queried quietly. He shook his head.

"He was in London at the time on a… job. Offered it up to me to use should you and I have wanted…" He waved the thought off with a flick of his wrist. "It matters little now…" he trailed off. Stepping behind her, he wrapped an arm about her waist, pulling her back to his chest then rubbed his cheek against the top of her head. "What matters is we're here, now, alone…with all of this," he said sweeping his hands at the view before them, "at our fingertips."

Before them stood a wall of glass doors atop of which sat windows, allowing the entirety of the panoramic view outside to be seen from within. The doors allowed one to open up the entire backside of the house, bringing the outside in if they wished. Beyond the door lay a large, cobblestone terrace topped by a pergola, sumptuous Mayan hammocks stung between the posts on either side. To the left of that lay the patio that could be seen from the front of the house, to the right the pool.

"Daniel had exquisite taste," she complimented, then laughed quietly. "Surprising but stunning."

"I'm a bit surprised myself," he admitted. "This is not at all like his other residences. Shall we have a look at the most important room in the house?" he asked, bussing her neck.

"By all means," she agreed, allowing him to lead her towards the rear of the house. She burst out laughing. "The kitchen?" He grinned at her.

"Where else? Though I must say, I enjoy where that lascivious mind of yours has taken you," he teased, as he poked about the kitchen, inspecting the appliances and workspace, giving a nod of approval. Laura walked slowly along the island in the kitchen, her finger running along the marble surface,

"Seems winning our little wager will be even easier than I anticipated…" she mulled aloud. Remington's eyes looked up and caught the playful tug at the corner of her mouth. He stood and leaned his backside against the counter, arms crossed, watching her with amusement.

"Oh? Do tell." She raised her brows at him, as she rounded the corner of the island.

"Simply wondering if you're up for the challenge, Mr. Steele. That's all." She smirked a self-satisfied smile when he pushed himself off the counter and strode towards her with purpose. Grabbing her head in both of his hands, skipping the niceties he drew her into a voracious kiss that he ended only when he felt her hands twitch against his sides. Bending his knees, he scooped her up into his arms.

"I have every confidence I'll rise to the occasion, Mrs. Steele," he told her with a cocky little grin, then promptly miss stepped when Laura's mouth found that spot beneath his ear that turned his mind to mush when she did precisely what she was at the moment.

"Do you intend to fill me in?" she whispered against his ear, before nipping at the lobe. His brain stumbled, and he said a small prayer of thanksgiving when he crossed the threshold of the bedroom.

"It'd be my pleasure helping you get the point of it," he breathed as he lay her down on the bed and folded himself over top of her.

"Well you know what they say about hands on learning… you always come out on top," she murmured, skimming her hands through his hair then palming the back of his head and drawing him down to her. This time when their lips met, thoughts fled as they lost themselves in sensation and each other.

* * *

Remington lay on his back, an arm slung over his eyes, the other wrapped around Laura, who was sprawled out across him. Dinner was simmering on the stove, and a table on the terrace was set: Silverware laid out, candles ready to light and wine glasses already partially filled with a fine cabernet. The sky over the water was lit up in a beautiful sunset: pinks, reds, and golds setting the sky on fire. Their bodies sated momentarily by their enjoyable afternoon romp, the gentle sway of the hammock in which they were laying had lulled them into that pleasant place between sleep and wakefulness. Her fingers lazily toyed with the hair behind his ear, drawing a contented hum from him here and there.

She sighed contentedly. "Rem, I know you have another stop planned for us before London, but I was wondering if you might reconsider our destination."

"Hmmm," he replied, clearly dozing.

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Hmmmm."

"Dinner's burning," Laura dead panned. Remington jolted awake, then sat up suddenly, flipping he and Laura out of the hammock straight onto the ground below.

"Owwwwwwwwww," she complained rubbing her behind, still tender from the sunburn.

He jumped to his feet, then hopped over her, heading for the kitchen. She could hear the lids rattling on pans as he checked them.

"Thanks for the hand up," she called, getting to her feet.

"Really, Laura," he called back. "You shouldn't joke about something as serious as the dinner a man has been slaving over all afternoon burning on the stove."

She rolled her eyes. "Funny how you heard me say that, but nothing else I was saying."

Glancing about, he searched his mind trying to think of what she had been saying. Nothing. "I assure you, Laura," he bluffed, "I heard every word you were saying."

"So, you agree then?"

He thought for a moment, before replying. _Fifty-fifty chance I can get this answer right_ , he thought. "Yes, yes, absolutely."

"Do you really think we can do it?"

He grinned, right answer old boy. "We can do anything we set our minds to, love." _There_ , he thought, _that should cover most topics._

Laura walked into the room and approached him, her face lit up. "Thank you," she reached up and touched his lips with hers.

"Mmmm, you're most welcome," he told her, bending his head to hers again, for her to scoot out of his arms and head into the living room.

"Where are you going?"

"To call Mother, of course."

"Why?" he asked carefully.

"To let her know that we're flying her over for the rest of the week. You just agreed with me that it was a wonderful idea. I know it will be tight, but we'll just give her the bedroom, and you and I can toss some pillows and blankets on the floor out here to sleep. I was really worried you would say no…especially since I told you I wouldn't be at all comfortable, ummm, exploring each other further while she was here. After all, she _is_ my mother," Laura walked over and picked up the handset to the phone, dialing.

"Laura," Remington called, rushing from the kitchen. Seeing her still dialing, he called a little more desperately, "Laura, Laura, Laura, Laura, don't make that call."

She set the receiver down. "Why not?" she asked, feigning innocence. "You just agreed it was a wonderful idea."

She watched him, laughing to herself. He grinned, affixing his best repentant look on his face.

"Well, I may not have heard _everything_ you said," he confessed.

"You don't say," she answered him drily with raised brows. He just grinned at her some more.

"What am I going to do with you?" Laura laughed. He lifted a brow suggestively.

"I can think of one or two delectable things."

"Sorry, big guy," she teased, reaching up and giving him a quick kiss before stroking her hands across his shoulders and down his arms. His hands reached for her hips; she slipped past him with laughing ease. "I expect a gentleman to at least feed me before I invite him into my boudoir."

"You're a cruel woman at times, Mrs. Steele," he smiled languidly, admiring the gentle sway of her hips as she crossed the living room, to lean against the doorway, staring out at the water as the sun made its final dive below the horizon. She looked back over her shoulder, taking him in from the top of his head to the tip of his toes.

"Mmmm, I guess I'll have to find a way to make it up to you later," she promised, then drifted off onto the veranda as he returned to the kitchen. Ensconcing herself back in the hammock, she allowed her thoughts to meander, as she enjoyed the soft breeze coming off of the water and the gentle sway of hammock.

She'd been swamped by memories the second they'd landed in Cannes – memories of the last, disastrous time they'd been there, where hope of moving forward had ended, and so had they. She'd be lying if she denied that being back here with Remington now didn't bring with it a number of regrets, a number of questions.

It had stung when she'd learned he'd had an ulterior motive for encouraging her to take part in Stanford University's Alumni Glee Club tour of Europe. She'd believed that he'd been thinking only of her, had been encouraging her to do something she rarely did: indulging herself. Europe, singing… him. She'd been both terrified and excited at the last of those three things, unsure if she could continue to keep them out of the bedroom, unsure if she even wanted to. She'd brought Mildred along as a buffer – ready to use her presence at a drop of a hat if she felt things between them slipping out of her control. To have found she wanted to give up that control, to finally cross that line, had been a stunning realization… a welcome one.

But she'd miss stepped, could admit that much to herself now. She'd made the decision that it was time to consummate their relationship completely alone, not including Remington in the discussion at all. She'd excitedly told Mildred...

* * *

" _ **Tonight's the night!"**_

* * *

In doing so, their trusted secretary had known before Remington himself her plans for the evening. He'd been set off kilter when she'd attempted her seduction of him. Then, after his own duplicity had been revealed, the next afternoon as they'd argued through the streets of Cannes, she'd learned how offended he was by her unilateral decision that is was time for them to at last head into the bedroom. It had never occurred to her that he'd feel that way, another mistake on her part. Now, she shook her head at her own foolishness.

 _What was I thinking?_ she wondered now. _Of course he'd be offended. For two years he'd been wining and dining me, trying to entice me across that line. I had completely underestimated the import of the moment to him, not realizing it had become as momentous of an occasion to him as it had me. He'd have wanted not only the place to be "worthy" but the buildup. Romance, lots of romance. Glancing touches and seductive kisses, nurturing our mutual desire. A little champagne, likely plenty of dancing. The mood, the atmosphere, then finally losing ourselves in each other._

She shook her head again and smiled softly, then, smile fading, recalled a serious gaffe on her part: Smith. In that period where her anger at his manipulations had merged with her remembrance of Joelle on his bed, in his arms, she done the unthinkable. She'd allowed… no, encouraged… seduced even… the loathsome pig Smith into taking liberties with her. Remington could only watch as the man shoved his tongue down her throat, she willingly reciprocating even as her stomach turned; had watched as the man's hand wandered up her shirt to crush a breast; had listened as she'd pretended to be overcome with passion, panting then later crying out when Smith's teeth sank into her flesh.

She'd wounded Remington, deeply, had meant to. Had done so with gusto, relishing the flashes of jealousy, of injury that had crossed his face. It hadn't been enough that she'd already made the decision to end them, but she had wanted him to bleed a little both before and when she did. It was the first time she'd utilized a man against him, but not the last. She hadn't liked herself much for it when she'd done it, and remembering it now, she didn't find her distaste for her actions had lessened any at all.

Then, of course, she'd ended them. Now, she couldn't help but wonder if she hadn't chosen to do so, would they have reached this point, today, all the sooner? She didn't know and the question bothered her deeply.

Piano music suddenly filled the air, and the light on the veranda went out. Laura's eyes followed Remington as he carried the plates to the table, staring at him unabashedly. As much as she loved him in his suits and tuxes, when he wore a simple pair of jeans, and a loose fitting, button down shirt with hem untucked, he stole her breath away. She admired his firm behind, shown to its best advantage in the jeans, and without realizing it, licked her lips.

"Laura, if you keep looking at me like that, we won't be eating tonight," he warned her, feeling himself stir, uncertain if it was because of the open desire on her face or because she no longer made an attempt to hide it from him.

"Why, Mr. Steele," she replied coyly, "I already told you I expect a man to feed me before I take him into my bed." She slid off the hammock and walked across the veranda toward him with purpose. Splaying her hands against his side, she allowed one to wander over a hip, then to explore the firm cheek of his jean-clad bottom. She felt, as much as heard, the hitch in his sudden intake of breath when her hand caressed him.

"Who said anything about bed, Mrs. Steele," he replied, playfully arching a brow and glancing to the floor.

"At tempting as that is… and, _believe me_ , it _is_ tempting… I'm absolutely ravenous after spending two hours smelling what you've been cooking up in there." To her credit, she eyed him regretfully, even as her stomach rumbled its agreement.

"In that case," he said with a laugh, "we'd better fortify you for the night ahead." He held out her chair for her, then moved to sit next to her. Picking up his fork, he speared a piece of the duck l'orange, putting it in her mouth when she opened it.

"Mmmmmmmmm," Laura all but purred. "This is delicious. It never fails to amaze me what you can do with food. I think this duck may be better than sex." Remington grinned at the compliment, even as he pretended elsewise.

"Really, Laura," he drawled, "I'm not sure if I should be flattered by the compliment on my cooking, or worried that you apparently find my performance in the bedroom lackluster in comparison." His eyes darkening with unhidden passion, he reached out and lightly traced his fingers across her bare shoulder to the base of her throat, then down center of her chest until the material of her blouse stopped his travels, delighting in watching her breath quicken and goosebumps dotting her skin. Laura's own eyes grew smoky at his touch, and she began shoveling food into her mouth.

Taking a bite of his dinner, he set his fork back down, to continue to tease her. "I do believe I'm beginning to get an inferiority complex, love. Here I am… doing my utmost to seduce you, and clearly, the way you are digging in, the duck is of vastly more interest."

Grabbing another quick bite, he rose then walked around the table. Leaning down he brushed his fingers across the back of her neck, then followed them with his lips as his hands moved over to stroke the side of her throat. His lips followed the path his fingers had just taken, running his slightly open mouth down the side of her neck, over her shoulder, the tip of his tongue brushing like a feather across her skin, as his hand reached around in front of her, and began caressing a line across her skin where the fabric had stopped his journeys just a moment before.

He laughed to himself as he watched her pile the food on her fork and fill her mouth, reminding him of the night she told him that Derek Vivyan had made a pass at her.

"I may never be able to touch you again, you've taken such a blow at my self-confidence" he whispered, dipping his hand into her shirt, running a hand over her silk encased breast, rubbing his thumb over her hardened nipple as she moaned softly.

"You're not playing fair, Remington," she complained, even as she unconsciously arched her back slightly, pressing her breast more firmly into his palm.

"I should think not," he agreed, his mouth trekking across her shoulder to caress that place where neck meets shoulder. He grinned against her skin as he felt the tremor pass through her body. "After all, I've been learning at the heels of the master at not playing fair."

"I'm really, really hungry, Rem," she reminded him breathily, desperately taking another bite.

"Mmmm, so am I," he murmured, his mouth moving to the base of her neck and pulling firmly. Unable to take it any longer, Laura threw her fork across the table and then wrapped her hand around his neck, and bending her head backward, pulled his mouth down crushing it to hers. He chuckled, and kissed her bottom lip, then sucked it lightly, briefly. Standing, he pulled her up into his arms, carrying her tucked tight to his body.

"Ever made… made love in a hammock, love," he asked, stumbling over the words, when her lips found his neck, her fingers the gap in his shirt.

"Can't say that I have," she answered, as he released her legs and she slid down his body. "You?" She asked, her eyes catching and holding his, her hands sweeping his now unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders and hands moving to work on the button of his jeans. He brushed her hands aside for a moment, to pull her shirt over her head.

"A first for both of us then," he answered, leaning down to kiss her as her hands returned to his pants. She shoved jeans and briefs together over his hips, her hunger for him mounting with each touch of his lips against hers. She hummed deep in her throat, making him end the kiss, his hands divesting her of skirt and panties almost desperately. His fingers raked up her legs, before he picked her up again, laying her on the hammock. He climbed in, carefully lowering himself on top of her, as the swing moved precariously.

"Think we're up for the challenge, Mr. Steele?" she asked breathlessly, as his lips glazed over her cheekbones and eyes.

"We can overcome even the most daunting of challenges together, Mrs. Steele," he promised, his lips finding hers, long tapered fingers tracing down her side, over the curve of her waist.

Overcome, they did. After experimenting with a variety of positons that left them laughingly grasping the fabric of the hammock to keep from toppling out, a little creativity and a good deal of finesse led to some delightful consequences, taking them both into oblivion. Still trying to catch her breath, Laura reached up and brushed Remington's damp hair away from his forehead. Lifting his head to look at her, equally short of breath, burning hot blue eyes met smoky amber ones and held.

"Do you think one would fit on the terrace at home?" she asked on a gasp, as she thumbed the sheen of sweat away from his brows.

Cocking his head at her, he raised a brow as his passion-sated, befuddled mind attempted to make sense of what she was asking. When it registered, he burst out laughing and leaned down to kiss her.

"If not, we'll buy a place where it will," he vowed, leaning down to kiss her even as her delighted laugh twinkled in the air.

Dinner warmed, then eaten, table cleared, plates washed and put away, and soft jazz floating on the air saw Remington and Laura walking along the water's edge. Daniel's villa offered a hundred yards of private beach front, nestled between two, short but tall boulder jetties that afforded anyone using the beach absolute privacy from nearby homes. Tilting her head to look at him, Laura considered Remington at length. He'd grown quiet after dinner, pensive, though not withdrawn. A brush of her fingers across the palm of his hand drew his gaze to her.

"Let's sit," she suggested. At his nod of agreement, she gripped the tip of his fingers with hers and led him several steps up into the soft, dry sand. Waiting until he sat, legs spread, knees bent, she folded herself into his waiting arms. Without thought, she reached for his hand, and a finger began tracing pretty patterns against his palms and fingers. "Thinking about Daniel?"

He hummed in the positive. "In a manner of speaking," he acknowledged.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked in a neutral voice, not wanting him to base the decision on what he believed she wanted.

He remained quiet for some time, long enough for her to believe he didn't wish to discuss whatever was on his mind. In fact, he was considering her now. Over their years together, they'd had countless serious discussions with one another. But never had their discussions veered towards the topic of religion, faith or beliefs. The closest they'd ever tread to the topic was when he'd asked her to remind him of a prayer when he was starting a car he'd hoped was bomb free. He was uncertain how she'd react to discussing the matter now, but since the afternoon that he'd read Daniel's letter, something Daniel had written had weighed heavily on his mind.

She started slightly when he finally spoke, having grown accustomed to the silence, hoping that her presence nearby would be of some solace while he struggled with what it was on his mind.

"I think I do," he answered quietly. He paused at length again, before continuing on hesitantly. "Do you believe in Heaven, immortal life and the like, Laura?" Her finger stilled for a moment as she mulled his question carefully, then began to move again.

"I think… when you're raised in the Church as I was, that there are certain beliefs that always stay with you." she answered quietly, honestly. She felt him stiffen behind her, and closed her eyes in reaction. Faith, religion were such personal and yet touchy subjects that they were both on the short list of topics she'd prefer not to discuss with people - ranking right up there with politics, abortion and gun control.

"Did I understand you to just say that you grew up in the Church? The _Catholic_ Church?" he asked, clearly stunned. She turned her head to look at him, brow furrowed, then laughed quietly while rolling her eyes when she saw the utter confusion written across his face.

"Remington, my mother comes from Connecticut where nearly ninety percent of the population is Catholic. Her parents were Catholic, her parents' parents were Catholic, and so on. Knowing that… you've met my Mother, you know how she is: propriety, appearances, junior league, civic duty. Well, the same extends to the Church: Mass every Sunday, Catechism classes, parochial school, Notre Dame Academy for high school, Communion at seven, Confirmation at twelve… the whole shebang," she paused, then turned to look at him again. "The odds of my not being Catholic with my Mother in charge of our upbringing is about as likely as you not being Catholic – at least in some form – having grown up in Ireland." He hummed his acknowledgment of her statement.

"Not to mention Elena getting her hands on me," he laughed. She nodded then returned her attention to his hand.

"Now that that's settled, why do you ask? What's on your mind?"

"Something Daniel wrote in his letter to me… That he feared when looking down at me one day he'd find I'd not claimed what you and I have together, that I'd be suffering the loss of you for it." He paused, at a loss for words, struggled to find them. "Do you think it's possible that he is… watching?" She stilled again, once more choosing her words with care.

"I told you several years back when… Anna… showed back up in your life my thoughts on that matter, do you remember?" He nodded his head. _As though I could ever forget. Even after I'd injured you, you gave me absolution without thought._ Her words were as clear in his memory as if she had spoken them only moments ago.

* * *

" _ **Some people in our lives are never meant to leave us."**_

* * *

He rubbed his cheek against the top of her head, before settling his chin on her shoulder. "Thank you," he told her simply. She cocked her head to the side.

"For what?" she asked, clearly perplexed.

"It's… important… for me to believe… that Daniel knows that we've made it, that we're happy. I can't explain more than that." She nodded her head, then dropped his right hand and picked up his left instead. She stroked her thumb across his wedding band.

"We are, aren't we?" She asked, leaning back to rub her cheek against his. He hummed and nodded, while running his free hand around her waist, squeezing her briefly against him. "I've been doing some thinking myself," she admitted.

"Dare I ask about what?" he teased. She chuckled quietly in response then grew serious.

"The last time we were in Cannes. Wondering if we might have gotten here that much sooner if I hadn't ended us, if we hadn't lost that time." He was silent, while he pondered her suggestion, then lifted her hand in his to brush his lips over her knuckles.

"I don't know," he acknowledged. "I know I never wanted it. Tried to tell you that, out there," he waved his hands towards the water, "on the yacht… after Smith." Her body twitched at the mention of the man's name. He, however, was oblivious to her reaction as he mulled over something Elena had said to him. "I don't know, but I suspect not." This time Laura straightened in surprise.

"Why is that?" He shook his head.

"I don't know that this is water we wish to wade into at the moment, Laura," he hedged. Releasing his hand, she turned to look at him.

"After a comment like _that_ , I don't see how we can't," she told him pointedly, her face a picture of avid curiosity. He sighed and shook his head, a hand scrubbing at his mouth.

"Alright, if we must. But I have to warn you, we're going to fight." Laura stared at him, mouth agape at the last comment. Pushing himself up out of the sand, he got to his feet and began to pace.

" _No_ , I don't think we would've found ourselves here sooner had it not been for you ending us. I'd been telling you for years, through action and words, how I felt about you, that I was committed to you. Yet, as much as you claimed you needed the words, you'd just brush them aside." He paused and stared out over the water, flicked a hand towards it. "Much the same as I tried to tell you out there that I didn't want it… us to end… but you ignored _that_ as well." Laura pushed herself to her feet.

"Whoa-ho!" she commented, a cross between sarcasm and disbelief in her voice. "You'd been telling me for years. When did you make all these declarations, because I certainly don't recall…"

"Exactly my point!" He threw up his hands in frustration, while she planted her hands on her hips in vexation.

"Tell me." She demanded quietly. _I would've notice,_ she thought to herself. _I'd been waiting for just that, any sign that he felt the same as I before we could move ahead._

"You want examples?" He swiped at the back of his neck. "Alright. The Federal Reserve after you fell from the girder…"

* * *

" _ **I nearly lost you out there tonight and I realized I'm not prepared for that at all."**_

* * *

She stared at him, then gave a small shake of her head. "People often say things immediately after a life threatening event that they don't really mean," she attempted to rationalize. He stared at her, and swiped at the back of his head.

"Certainly in Acapulco I made my feelings clear..."

* * *

" _ **Damn it, Laura. I care for you…"**_

* * *

"You were angry, upset… frustrated even…." She began only to be cut off.

"Yes, yes that I was, but it didn't mean the words were any less sincere," he pointed out.

"True, but then you agreed only a few sentences later that you couldn't give me any guarantees. What was I supposed to think after that?"

"How was I to give you something that my entire life had taught me didn't exist? How many families guaranteed that theirs was the last home in which I'd live? The police guaranteed I'd be safe at that orphanage, and we both know how _that_ worked out! Even Anna…," he broke off his words, swiped at his hair again. "Even so, I made it clear during the McCullum case that this, between us, was not in my mind going to amount to only a mere fling…"

* * *

" _ **I'm not planning on cutting a fast tango through your life and I'm not going to stop wanting you…"**_

* * *

"And again, you qualified that with you could make no guarantees!" He swiped at his hair again in frustration.

"When we were locked in that coffin, I told you then that I was staying not for what we might be, but because for the reality of what we already were. And after…" he hesitated then forged on, "… Anna showed up. I'd chosen you, our present, over her, our past. I'd changed myself, everything about my life trying to be what you needed. There was no turning about. I didn't _want_ to turn about."

"How was I supposed to _believe_ you?" she demanded, voice rising. " _For days_ you acted as though I…" she flipped her hand back and forth between them, "… _we_ … didn't exist, had never mattered at all!" His hands scrubbed at his face, even as he nodded.

"You couldn't have, I suppose," he acknowledged, his voice softening. "And the night after your house burned down. You offered myself to me, do you recall that?"

* * *

" _ **Tonight, if you asked me, I don't think I could say no."**_

* * *

"Yes," she answered, taking a few tentative steps towards him, sensing the change in his mood, "and you refused me." He stepped to her, taking her hand in his and leading her back down to the sand to sit. Only once they were settled again did he correct her.

"I didn't refuse you, Laura. I told you I couldn't ask." He fingered the ring on the hand underneath his.

"Why couldn't you? You'd been pressing me for more than a year to go to bed with you. It seemed the perfect opportunity to make all of your hopes a reality." He shook his head adamantly.

"Perhaps the first couple of weeks, I was thinking this would be no more than a delightful dalliance. I even doubt that now," he laughed. "Did I want us to become lovers? Desperately." He bussed her neck. "But not like that." She tilted her head back at him, a puzzled frown on her brows.

"Not like what?"

"You, broken." He shook his head. "I may not always make the wisest of choices when it comes to us…" He paused when Laura snorted softly, giving her a slight squeeze, letting her know he'd heard. "…But I'm not a buggering idiot. I needed you to come to me whole… knowing that this, between us, could never be either meaningless or just a moment." Lifting his hand, she brushed her lips across his palm.

"I think you mean that," she told him quietly. He nodded, while giving her another gentle squeeze.

"I do, and I did then as well. But, you didn't. That's rather my point. No, I don't think we would've gotten here sooner without Cannes, because you didn't believe. You were still waiting for that moment I disappeared. And myself?" He shrugged. "As Elena pointed out, I needed to realize the games, the ruses meant to disarm you, show you what you meant to me, only pushed you further away. You needed a true partner." She nodded her head and squeezed his fingers.

"After Cannes, when you stayed in spite of me ending us… That's when I really began to believe that I wouldn't wake one day and find you gone. And, if I'm going to be completely honest…" she paused and took a deep breath, "…I think I even became too comfortable in that. Somewhere I realized I could keep pushing you away, and you'd still stay. That's why it was such a shock when you finally did give up and leave." She blinked at the wetness in her eyes, at the memory of that night. "I didn't really believe you were gone until I opened that first closet…" her voice trailed off, as she swiped away a tear that had managed to slip past her lashes.

"And without London, we wouldn't have had the last year," he reminded her, nuzzling her cheek with his.

"We're going to make this work, aren't we?" she asked with a confidence she'd once imagined she'd never feel. He hummed while nodding.

"Yes, we are. I told you once before: It's a firm foundation we've created, you and I." She laughed softly, turning in his arms to kneel in front of him. After brushing back that stubborn lock of hair of his, she took his face between her hands and looked at him, then smiled.

"In spite of ourselves, almost." She brushed her lips against his, then stood, holding out a hand to him. "Care to join me for a shower? I'm itchy." He stood and took her hand, walking back towards the house.

"From the sand?" he queried. Laura smiled a secret little smile, remembering the conversation she'd once had with Bernice.

* * *

 _ **"Depends on what you're looking for. Me? I'm all partied out. What I want is slightly dull, filthy rich husband. But if I were in the market for a heart stopping, teeth rattling, eye rolling fling-" Bernice, using her fingers to mimic a gun, pointed to the picture of Remington in Laura's hand. "Pow!"**_

 _ **"You know, it's not just the free ride that keeps this clown around. It's the challenge. I'm probably the only woman he's ever met who didn't tumble right into bed with him."**_

 _ **"Not a bad way to break the ice."**_

 _ **"Yeah. But I can barely keep him in line now. Can you imagine what he'd be like if we turned THAT corner?"**_

 _ **"Might be fun finding out."**_

 _ **"I've worked too hard to risk everything just to get my teeth rattled."**_

 _ **"So where does that leave you?"**_

 _ **Laura had considered the question, then smiled coyly. "Itchy."**_

* * *

Looking at Remington now, her smile widened. "Okay," she agreed with a laugh, drawing him to give her a puzzled look. _No, Mr. Steele, not from the sand._


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 6: Little Details Missed

A knock on the door in the early morning hours woke the exhausted couple. Laura moaned loudly in protest as she automatically drew herself out of Remington's embrace, and pushed herself up on her arms, prepared to go answer the door. He nudged her and she gratefully sank back down on the mattress, smiling contentedly when he placed a kiss on the back of her neck and rose to answer the door in her stead. Signing for the two envelopes delivered by the courier, he tipped the man well, then shut the door. While he had been expecting both deliveries, he glanced at one with uncertainty then at the second with a considerable amount of dread. Setting the envelopes on the coffee table in the living room, he returned to the bedroom.

Seeing his wife's nude, lithe form on the bed, only her delectable little bottom barely covered by the sheet, he was sorely tempted to slide back into bed and wake her in a most delicious way. With a sigh of regret, he turned towards the shower, knowing he'd need a little time to digest the contents of the paperwork awaiting him before she woke. Making quick work of the shower, while enjoyably assessing his numerous muscles left aching after a night of marathon love making, in short order he was dried off, dressed and was in the kitchen making himself a cup of tea and Laura a pot of coffee. Crossing through the living room, he picked up both packets and retired to the table on the veranda where he and Laura had eaten the night before.

 _Eeny, meny, miny, moe,_ he thought to himself. _No matter which I begin with, there will be decisions to be made._ Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he thumbed open the packet delivered to him by the London law offices of Phillips, Griffith and Bennett and pulled out a copy of Daniel Chalmer's Last Will and Testament. His brows raised as he skimmed the first page, from there on only a flicker of surprise crossing his face as he read through the rest of the document. Sighing deeply, he slid the documents back into the envelope in which they'd arrived, then leaned back in his chair, propping his feet in another. Sipping his tea, he allowed what he'd read to sink in, knowing that he'd need to talk to Laura about it to make it real, and even more so, to soothe the grief that had swamped him the minute he'd begun to read.

Hearing the sheets rustling in the nearby bedroom, he knew Laura would be awake within the next half an hour. Standing he walked towards the kitchen, chuckling quietly as her heard her disgruntled mumbling as she searched for his body in her sleep and didn't find it near. A sense of deep contentment obliterated his grief for a moment and unable to resist the draw, he made a quiet detour on catlike feet into the bedroom, sliding quietly into bed next to her so that she could find him. When her searching hand glanced across his abdomen, she rolled over and into him, tucking herself up under his chin and nudging a calf between his thighs. He waited until she settled back into slumber, a hand stroking rhythmically up and down her back. With a kiss on her forehead, he slipped out of the bed, retrieved the envelopes from the veranda and retired to the kitchen to start prepping breakfast.

Twenty minutes later, muffins baking, eggs scrambled and waiting, plates adorned with slices of fruit, Remington picked up the second envelope and leaned back against the counter. Removing the small jeweler's box from within, he opened the top and turned it upside down, a hinged box falling into his hand. Opening the lid, he plucked from its bedding the ring he'd had designed after the Lester Shane case. Like in Greece when Elena had given him the wedding rings he and Laura now wore, only one word came to mind: Kismet.

A three carat, flawless ruby solitaire centered the ring, while the band was encrusted with equally flawless diamonds. Simple, elegant, like Laura. That the ring happened to be the perfect complement to her wedding band was nothing short of fate. Tucking it back in the box then the envelope, he hid it at the rear of the top of the fridge where Laura was sure not to find it.

There were decisions that needed to be made.

* * *

Laura stretched awake, the mid-morning sun flooding the room. She knew without looking that her husband had, once again, risen before she did. She considered getting annoyed with herself for a moment, then simply shrugged and sat up in the bed. Through the wall of windows in front of her, she watched the sun glisten off the Mediterranean waters, as several boats, sails billowing, drifted lazily across the surface. Reaching for Remington's pajama top, she pulled it on as she crossed the room to look out across the water. She shook her head, amazed that there were some people who were able to wake to such a scene every day. With a smile and a another shake of her head, she decided to get the day underway.

In the kitchen, Remington heard Laura stirring in the nearby bedroom. Determinedly, he put aside the thoughts spurred by the morning's delivery, and concentrated on his lovely wife instead – something guaranteed to lift his mood. Grinning a smile that would rival that of the Cheshire cat, he turned the flames on under two pans. Adding a little olive oil to one, allowing it to warm, he resumed dicing the green pepper on the chopping board in front of him. His mind drifted to the evening before. _Does wonders for a man's ego, knowing he's left an exhausted wife sleeping soundly in his bed,_ he thought, his smile growing even wider.

As he'd promised in Greece, he'd made love with Laura until the early morning hours, tempting, teasing and challenging her to keep pace. And keep pace she had. As he'd learned in the past year, while she'd hesitated for years to cross over that line, once she'd begun giving them the green light on those final steps that would turn them into lovers, she did so without a single reservation. He relished the fact that she'd turn the tables on him in the blink of an eye, determined to bring him as much pleasure as he did her.

Here, in the kitchen, he could make sure the morning would start for her as pleasantly as the evening before had ended. Scraping the peppers, tomatoes, onions and spices off the cutting board into the now sizzling olive oil, he checked quickly on the muffins. Browned to perfection, he pulled them from the oven, to allow them to cool, then removed the now sautéed vegetables from the pan. Hearing her moving across the living room, no doubt led by her nose to where he was waiting, he poured a generous helping of eggs into the warmed pan. He smiled as he felt her small hands smooth across his waist until her arms were wrapped around him.

"Good morning," she greeted him in that lovely, lilting voice he adored. Turning, he brushed his lips over hers.

"Good morning, love." He grinned as he watched her lift herself onto the nearby counter then promptly filched a slice of strawberry from a nearby plate and pop it into her mouth.

"What's on our calendar for today?" she asked as she snatched a slice of strawberry from the other plate. He playfully popped her hand with the spatula.

"Really, Laura, can't wait the five minutes or so until breakfast is ready?" he asked teasingly.

"I'm hungry," she said with a shrug. "So, what's the plan?" Plating an omelet, he glanced at her, then started the second before answering.

"I need to go through the house and make sure anything potentially… incriminating… about Daniel's past is removed, in case the house is sold." She nodded while adding a couple of the now warm muffins to their plates.

"Alright. What do we need to do?" He paused again for a moment, recognizing that in giving away Daniel's likely hiding spots he'd also be giving away his own. With a small shrug, he recognized he had nothing to hide from her.

"If you'd go through the living room, dining room and guest room, I'll take the master bedroom, bathroom and kitchen," he answered as he plated the second omelet. Turning off the gas to the range, he placed their plates on the tray he'd already set up with glasses of juice and silverware. Handing her a cup of coffee, he turned towards the veranda, Laura hopping down off the counter and following in his wake.

"What am I looking for?" she asked once they were seated and had begun to eat.

"You'll know when you find it… if you find anything at all. The key will be to check everything. Remove the drawers from the dressers, look under to see if anything is taped there. Feel along the backside and underside of all furniture. Look behind mirrors. Take down pictures, see if the backs have been removed and resecured. Look under the mattress and box springs then be sure to examine them thoroughly to see if they've been opened then sewn shut…" Laura nodded.

"No stone unturned," she summarized. He nodded in return.

"Precisely." She studied him and he waited for the question he knew was to come.

"Should I ask how many… ummmm… hiding places you have back home?"

"It used to be two. My passports were kept in an envelope and taped on the underside of a bathroom drawer," he offered freely.

"And the other?" she asked around a mouthful of food. Another shrug.

"My safe." Forcing herself to swallow, her jaw dropped and her eyes opened wide.

"You have _a safe_? How don't I know about it?"

"It's well concealed." He answered, while providing no answers at all. He waited, then it came.

"Where?" He chuckled lightly. _Predictable as the sun,_ he thought to himself.

"Bottom left of the fireplace. A press on the right spot, the fireplace façade will release, revealing the safe." She shook her head in disbelief. _Wait for it, old sport._

"Should I even bother asking what you have in there?" _Precisely._

"Some gems I received as partial payment for the recovery of the missing piece of the Marchesa Collection. Financial documents. A list of former clients and their dealings should one ever have a mind to reveal my… assistance… in the recovery of their items." Laura dropped her fork on her plate and stared at him, thoroughly bewildered.

"Did you just answer my question directly?" Another shrug, along with an accompanying chuckle.

"Seems so," he answered, knowing full well the answer would only peek her curiosity more. She gave her head a small shake, as though to clear it, then stared at him. Her mouth opened to speak, then closed, then she tried again.

"I don't understand," she told him, thoroughly flummoxed. He laughed openly this time, earning him a small frown from her.

"You already know the most of what I've done. Granted, I may have missed a story or two here or there, but I've nothing to hide. Not from you, at any rate." He paused, only continuing when she remained silent and continued to stare at him dumbfounded. "Seems to me you've proven over the years, many times at that, that you'll reveal nothing that might place me in harm's way. Am I wrong in that?"

"No, but…" He watched her, amused, as she watched him. He knew her insatiable curiosity would not allow her _not_ to ask the question. "So, you're telling me that if I asked you _anything,_ you'd answer it honestly?"

"As I said, I've nothing to hide, not from you." _Wait for it… three…two… one…_

"What's the combination to the safe?" _Right on time._

"Your birthday." Her jaw fell open again.

" _My_ birthday? Why my birthday?" she asked, baffled once more.

"Two reasons. First, it happens to be a very important day to me. Second, perhaps more important at one time, it is the one combination you'd never have considered should you have found the safe before the time was right." Both their meals finished, he stood and held out his hand to her. "Now, may I suggest we get this little project of ours underway? I have a little trip that we'll need to take this afternoon, so the sooner this is out of the way the better." Allowing him to pull her up from her chair, she followed him into the house.

 _Wait for it, old sport, you know it's coming…._

"Where are we going this afternoon?" _Predictable as the sun, as I said._ He laughed aloud this time.

"All in due time, love, all in due time." He felt her frown on his back until they departed, she heading to the guestroom, he to the master suite.

* * *

Two hours later, the master bathroom and bedroom thoroughly tossed, the only discovery made by Remington was four of Daniel's five passports, taped on the underside of a bathroom drawer, much as he'd expected. Given Daniel's fifth and final passport, that bearing the name of Daniel Chalmer's, was already in his and Laura's possession, all passports were now accounted for. Otherwise, he'd come up with – in Mildred's infinite words – bupkis. He was now working his way through the kitchen.

Laura had had similar results in her investigation of the guest room and dining room. In other words, she come up with nothing. Her diligent searching of the living room gave way to far different results. Peeling back the paper backing on a mirror that hung over a loveseat, she found a manila envelope. Unable to deny her insatiable curiosity, she peeled the flap open and removed the envelopes contents: several newspaper clippings from cities scattered throughout Europe as well as one from Mexico City, Mexico. It took her a couple minutes, as she skimmed a couple of the articles written in English, to realize what she held in her hands and their implications.

"Remington, I think you'd better come here," she called to him in the kitchen. Hearing the strain in her voice, he never questioned for a moment that she'd found something that she considered not only important, but alarming. Unfolding himself from under the kitchen sink, he made his way quickly into the living.

"Found something, have you?" he asked when he found her sitting in the middle of the sofa, fingers rubbing her left brow while bent over whatever it was she held in her right hand. He sat down next to her on the couch, taking the clippings from her when she willingly relinquished them.

"Are those what I think they are?" she asked as he skimmed through the articles. Rubbing his hand across his mouth, he took a deep breath and blew it out before answering.

"If you think they're articles about my various…err… accomplishments over the years, then yes, it would seem that they are." She lunged off the couch, began pacing.

"What was Daniel thinking?" she demanded to know. "What if someone had found these? Did he even stop to think of what this… this… _collection_ could have cost you?" She rubbed frantically at her brow. "What if we hadn't found them? What if he had been caught in one of his cons and the police had searched the house?"

"Laura…" She continued to pace, not hearing him, so he tried again. "Laura, come here." She turned and looked at him, then walked over to the couch and flopped down on it next to him, none too gracefully. Putting her elbows on her knees, she rested her head in her hands while digging her fingers into her temples, trying to quell the headache that had begun to pound when she'd let her anxiety get the best of her. Clippings temporarily forgotten, his eyes narrowed on her. With a frown he shook his head. "Come on, have a lie down," he told her, turning on the couch so she could lay against his thights. She shook her head.

"I'm fine," she protested, then cringed when a bolt of pain shot through her eyes at the sound of her own voice. "I just want to know what the hell Daniel was thinking. I understand he was proud of your… accomplishments… but this was foolish by half!" She resisted when he wrapped an arm around her shoulder, encouraging her to lay down, but after a couple of firm tugs, gave up and stretched out on the couch, laying her head on his thigh. Gently removing her hands from her head, he handed her the clippings then began to massage her temples.

"I agree, it was not particularly wise of him to do this, but let's try to keep this in perspective, shall we?" he asked quietly. Eyes closed, she still frowned up at him.

"Perspective? Rem, Leo Blitzman could have followed this trail straight to you!" He shook his head in disagreement.

"I don't know how. I was never identified in any of these heists. The clippings are merely reports on the theft and missing items, nothing more." Opening her eyes she shuffled through the clippings to the last two and held them up one at a time, reading the headlines out loud.

"'Remington Steele Forestalls Assassination Attempt of the Earl of Claridge', 'Remington Steele Uncovers Identity of the Whitehall Slasher.' If we hadn't found them…" she trailed off. The idea of losing him now was beyond comprehension to her. The thought of him spending years in prison for any still prosecutable offenses chilled her to the core.

"But we did… you did." Feeling the tension in her body, seeing it on her face, he opted to try and lighten the mood. "Really, Miss Holt, I'm disappointed in you." Her eyes narrowed on him, the effect somehow not as intimidating when he was looking at her upside down. He stifled a laugh.

"Me?! What have I done?" she asked in an affronted voice.

"Here you have written proof of every one of my exploits, and not a single question. I think you may be losing your killer investigative instinct," he teased. Laura mulled this over for a minute. He felt her body begin to relax against him, as her mind kicked into gear.

" _Every_ one of your exploits?" she asked. He nodded.

"Except for a couple of stings ala Hoskins, it appears so." She took a whole new interest in the clippings. Picking up the first, an article from a Parisian paper, she skimmed its contents.

"'The Five Nudes of Cairo.'" She shook her head and muttered, "Figures. So you _did_ steal it with Felicia."

"We _recovered_ it for the Insurance Company who were going to have to pay a claim against it. They in turn saw their way _not_ to pay us for our efforts," he clarified. She merely glanced at the article from Mexico City, knowing well that it involved the Marchesa Collection. She held up an article from a Berlin newspaper. Glancing at it, he grinned.

"Ah, one you've not heard the story of, not that there's much to tell. In 1972, several pieces of art were stolen from the Montreal Museum of Art. Although kept very hush-hush, several of the stolen pieces were on loan to the museum by a rather well-to do family in London. A reward for the return for two of the pieces, a Rembrandt and Gainsborough, was quietly offered. Rumor had it that a rather ghastly man in Berlin, who fancied himself of connoisseur, had secured the pieces for a small price. I relieved him of the two pieces, restored them to their rightful owner and made a tidy sum in the process." He related the story in such a matter-of-fact tone, that it drew a laugh from Laura.

"All in a day's work," she said in a falsetto voice, while pretending to yawn in boredom. He laughed at her antics, while moving his hands to her shoulders to begin loosening the muscles there. An article about some jewels stolen from a home – _Fortress is a better word for it,_ Laura thought – was quickly dismissed out-of-hand.

"Foolish Lord that gave a mistress access to his safe. They broke up, she helped herself to a little over two and a half million pounds worth of the family jewels. Almost didn't take the job. After all, one of the items, the Black Orlov diamond, has a long history of being cursed. But take it I did. Job went off without a hitch, and eventually the diamond found a new home in the States." The next two articles had her brows raising.

"Cairo? You were in Cairo?! This is written in Arabic. You'll have to do the honors." Remington gave the article a glance, not needing to see the clipping to know what it was about.

"1978. I… errrrr… retrieved… a small Picasso from a museum there, returned it to its rightful owners, a rather well-to-do family living in Kuwait who was offering a generous fee for its recovery." He raised a brow. "Spear gun… little green monsters… ring any bells?" Laura laughed.

"I see. A tried and true method then, huh? You certainly know how to put a damper on a girl's fondest memories, Mr. Steele. Here I was believing that I was the first to share in that particular experience with you." Glancing down at her fondly, his eyes lit with tenderness, he smoothed a lock of hair back from her face.

"You were," he told her quietly. "Anyhow, all that work was for naught, although I did manage to earn a hefty finder's fee. Not two years later, the painting was stolen back and returned to the museum from which I had retrieved it." She nodded, then moved to the last clipping from a paper in Milan, announcing the recovery of a Monet and Liebermann, both of which had missing since World War II. She held up the clipping for him to peruse, a smile quirking at the side of his lips.

"Fond memories?" she asked, seeing the look. He shook his head and laughed quietly.

"Missed opportunities, is perhaps more accurate. I was hired by a family out of Milan who had managed to secure my name through word-of-mouth. During the War, several pieces of the family's private collection were seized by the Nazi's. The family eventually managed to escape Austria and found a home for themselves in Milan. Over the years, there were a fair number of whisperings that an art historian by the name of Gurlitt had collected an untold number of pieces of art from the Nazi Regime, all stolen during the course of the war from their rightful owners. The family believed that at least three pieces of their missing heritage were sequestered in Gurlitt's Salzburg home. If I were to recover them, I would receive a Matisse, not mentioned in that article," he nodded to towards the clipping, "as my payment to do with as I chose." Laura waited, while Remington's mind seemed to drift away.

"I take it, based on the article, that you did recover them?" she prodded. Giving his head a small shake, he then nodded and laughed quietly.

"Oh yes, quite easily actually. There was no security whatsoever on the home. I located the Monet tucked away under a bed, the Liebermann in a suitcase, and the Matisse in an old flour bin." A wide grin lit his face. "Laura, there were likely three hundred works of art hidden throughout that house. Picassos, a Courbet, a Manet, Renoirs, even a sculpture by Rodan. There were more masterpieces tucked away in that rundown home than I've ever seen in _any_ museum across the world. A positively stunning collection."

"And you didn't help yourself to any of those other pieces?" she asked. He looked at her askance.

"I wasn't hired to retrieve any of those other pieces, so no I did not. I imagine one day they will come to light and I daresay I look forward to that day. Art such as what was in that home should not be hidden from the world but enjoyed." Lifting her hand, he brushed his lips across her knuckles. "Up you get. I've still a fair portion of the kitchen to go through, then I'll finish up out here. Why don't you take your coffee out to the veranda and relax while I complete our little task?" She stood, with a shake of her head.

"I'm fine now. Incidentally, thank you." Pressing herself up on her tip-toes she touched her lips to his. Running his fingers across the back of her neck, he pulled her in tighter and deepened the kiss. He released her with smack of his lips.

"Believe me, it was my pleasure. You don't let me take care of you often enough, in my opinion, so when you do it is quite… heartwarming. You're sure you're up to this?" he double-checked.

"I'm fine. Let's get this finished up." She gave him a sidewise glance, as she crossed the room to continue her search. "Where'd you say again that we were going this afternoon?" Remington laughed, then walking toward the kitchen, called back over his shoulder.

"I didn't." Laughing, she replaced the mirror above the couch then moved on to the end table. _Can't blame a girl for trying,_ she grinned to herself.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, search complete, Remington lit a fire and they settled themselves before it.

"Certainly not ideal on a warm day such as it is, but definitely the most expedient way to destroy what we've collected." When he'd resumed his search of the kitchen, he'd found a list of Daniel's own, similar to the one he kept at home in his safe: a list of people he'd conned over the years, stings he'd conducted, and collection of dirty laundry on each of his marks. Those papers sat before them now as well as Daniel's passports and the articles about Remington's exploits across the years.

Laura's fingers swept through the side of his hair. He'd sat there for several minutes, thumbing through Daniel's passports, stalling on that of Leighton Sinclair. Skimming his thumb over the stamp that confirmed Daniel's presence in Ireland at the time preceding his birth, he sat lost in thought.

"Are you okay?" she asked quietly. He looked up, startled, then smoothed a smile across his lips.

"Fine, fine. Let's get this over with, shall we?" Handing Laura the clippings, he closed his eyes briefly then tossed the Sinclair passport into the fire. Skimming the article on the _Five Nudes,_ she followed suit.

"How much did the insurance company owe you?" she said less from curiosity and more as a distraction for him. _Is she at last putting it all together, then?_ he wondered.

"The standard recovery fee is ten percent of the value of the item or items recovered. In this case, the _Five Nudes_ had an estimated value of 2.75 million pounds at the time Felicia and I acquired it from them, earning us roughly 137,500 pounds a piece. I think it goes without saying that their duplicity left us with a bad taste for dealing with insurance companies," he mused. He watched as her eyes widened and she swallowed, hard.

"That would be how much in U.S. currency?" Stretching his legs out in front of him, and leaning back on an elbow, he tossed a second passport on the fire as he made the rapid calculations in his head.

"Roughly two hundred thousand." Her jaw dropped.

"Two hundred…" she shook her head, dazed. "I can see why it would leave a bad taste in your mouth," she commented drily. She held up the clipping from Mexico City. "And this?" she asked before tossing the article into the fire.

"Private collector, more risk. Fifteen percent of the value," he shrugged. She eyed him suspiciously and he watched as all her cylinders began to fire in rapid succession.

"The value of that being…."

"Three point five million, U.S., or thereabout," he supplied. She did the calculations herself this time.

"Then you would have… earned…. _five hundred thousand dollars_?!" He grinned widely at her this time. _It's only taken nearly five years, despite the hints I've dropped throughout those years,_ he chuckled to himself.

"Very good, Laura," he teased, then sobered. "Well worth the risk… at the time, at least. I'd not anticipated having to return to that particular part of the world with a lovely young woman whilst on a case. She was quite put out with me due to the legal… complexities… if I recall correctly." Another passport was tossed in the fire, while she frowned at him. "Although, I must admit, having to give up a twenty-five million dollar finder fee for the diamonds in order to make that little part of my past go away was… irritating in the extreme," he joked.

"I bet," she commented drolly. Tossing a couple more articles into the fire behind the passport, she held up the article from Cairo. "Do I even want to know?" He shrugged.

"The riskiest of all my ventures. I wouldn't accept the job for less than twenty percent, half wired in advance to a… private… account before I breached the museum." Her eyes narrowed on him once again when I stopped before giving her the full details. She waited expectantly, while tapping her fingers on her thigh. He kept quiet, a smile playing on his lips, enjoying the moment, knowing she'd not be able to hold out for long.

"Alright," she drawled. "Apparently, you're going to make me ask. Just how much was that 'little Picasso' worth."

"Substantially less than it is today, I assure you," he responded in a non-answer.

"Remington…" she said his name warningly. His brow raised in amusement.

"Today, I believe it's valued at around forty million U.S," he supplied obediently. She rolled her eyes in vexation.

"And then?" He shrugged.

"A mere thirty-two." He watched as she began doing the calculations. "Six point four," he provided helpfully while throwing a fourth passport on the fire. She stared at the remaining clippings in her hand, and selected the article on the Monet and Liebermann, then started to hold it up. With a shake of her head, she tossed all the remaining articles in the fire.

"I don't even want to know," she muttered, almost to herself.

She sat mulling over what she'd learned. Closing her eyes, she envisioned the Cairo clipping that now lay in ashes in the fireplace. _Focus, Laura, what was the date? 1978. He'd said 1978. Four years before he showed up in LA,_ she put together. Looking at him, she pursed her lips.

 _Wait for it, old sport,_ he mused. _She's almost there._

"Six point four million, only four years before you became Remington Steele. How in the hell were you _broke!"_ she burst out.

"I don't recall ever claiming to be destitute," he pointed out. "In fact, I could argue that over the years you've managed to miss several… clues… that would have said quite the opposite." He grinned, knowing that she was now racking her brain for what she'd missed.

"The polo match…" she murmured. "The fifty thousand you won and turned over to Wallace's mission in memoriam to him." He hummed his acknowledgment while tossing the last passport on the fire… the one for Daniel Chalmers of Canada.

"Added another fifty of my own funds, at that," he confided. She stalled, still searching.

"My piano…" He looked up and caught her eyes.

"Best money I've ever spent…" he confirmed, his hand reaching up to toy with a silken strand of her hair. She stroked her fingers over the back of his hand.

"Best present I've ever received…" she smiled. "The trips to Vail and New York?" He hummed his acknowledgment again. "What else have I missed?"

"Italian leather, Kiton, Brooks Brothers…" She frowned.

"That the Agency bought!" He shook his head, then pushed himself to his feet. Tossing the remaining papers into the fireplace, he held out his hand to her. Puzzled she took it and allowed him to lead her across the room to the phone.

"What are you doing?" she asked as he picked up the phone and dialed. Leaning down, he brushed his lips across hers.

"You'll have all the answers you want in just a minute, Laura." He straightened as someone picked up the phone on the other end.

"Krebs here," Mildred's voice carried across the transatlantic lines from where she sat in her living room watching PBS.

"How are things holding up at the office, Mildred?" he queried by way of greeting.

"Booking yours and the Mrs.'s schedules straight through for when you return." He cringed, knowing she meant that quite literally. 'Booking us solid,' he mouthed to Laura. She grinned. _Of course,_ he laughed to himself. "Why are you calling, Boss. Shouldn't you and Mrs. Steele be seeing Europe right about now?"

"Hmmmm, we are at that. Outside of Cannes at the moment. Mildred, Laura knows…" he began, only to be interrupted.

"Wow, you moved fast. The ring could have only arrived a few hours ago by my calculations. Did she…." He heaved a sigh before interrupting her monologue.

"About my accounts," he clarified. He heard Mildred suck in her breathe on the other side of the line.

"You _told_ her?" she asked. "Well, good for you! It's about time there are no more secrets between…"

"Mildred," he interrupted a bit of aggravation tracing his voice. Taking a breath, he began again. "Mildred, darling, these transatlantic calls cost a bloody fortune. I'm going to hand the phone over to Laura. Answer any questions she has, if you will."

"Any?" she clarified.

"Any, including the investment account for the Agency and repayments," he confirmed. Handing Laura the phone, he bussed her on the cheek, then told her quietly, "I'll be in the kitchen, putting us together a little something for lunch.

"Alright..." she said, puzzled by his abrupt departure from the room. "Hello, Mildred," she said, speaking into the phone.

"Mrs. Steele! Give me the scoop. You're in Cannes now, have you been anywhere else? Are you enjoying yourselves? Have the two of you finally decided to stop with…" Now it was Laura's turn to sigh.

"Mildred, as Mr. Steele already said, these calls cost a fortune. I give you my word, I'll fill you in on all the details once we get home," she told the trusted secretary firmly. "Now, what was this about an investment account for the Agency and repayments?" The line hummed for a few long moments, and Laura waited patiently knowing that Mildred was shifting from curious friend to professional mode.

"I don't have the books in front of me right now, but the Agency's investment account is currently valued at just under a hundred and forty thousand dollars, including the repayments by the Boss to the account of any funds he's used for personal use in the neighborhood of thirty-nine thousand dollars."

"That doesn't sound right, Mildred. He went through twenty-six thousand in his first month with the agency alone." Mildred nodded on the other side of the line, forgetting she was on the telephone then answered aloud instead.

"Right after I came on with the Agency, he and I sat down, calculated fair business costs for his expenditures on that Nadine character, and he wrote me a check out for the difference on the spot. Since that time he's purchased a suit here, a pair of shoes there, along with a wide screen TV and VCR, all reimbursed in full through the investment account." Mildred tittered on the other side of the phone. "Just enough to keep you off his trail."

"And the other hundred thousand or so? Where did that come from?" Laura asked, bewildered.

"He has quite the… how do they put it? Oh yes… finger on the pulse of the market. He's tripled the Agency's holdings while nearly doubling his own," Mildred enthused. Laura took a deep breath, feeling in some way she was betraying him by asking the question and not understanding quite why that was. _But_ , her logical mind reminded her, _if he didn't want me to know, he wouldn't have made a point that I did just that._

"And those holdings, Mildred?" Mildred paused for a second, waiting for Laura to clarify.

"Bank accounts, properties, business holdings or investments?" Mildred prompted. Laura sat down heavily on the couch.

"Ummm, yes?" Mildred squirmed on the other side of the line.

"It's a bit diverse, Mrs. Steele. It could take a while to go over it all." Laura let out a puff of air in frustration.

"Start with properties, then."

"In LA he owns his apartment, purchased in October of 1985, and three commercial buildings purchased in 1984 and 1985."

"In LA. And outside of LA?"

"The Boss purchased Gallen's house in Vail last January. Got it for a song too. I gotta say even I was impressed with how he wheedled…" Laura sighed again, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Mildred…" The line fell silent. "Total net worth? What are we talking?"

"Well, millions, hun," she stated simply.

"Thank you, Mildred. I'm sure we'll be speaking to you soon," Laura replied, hanging up, trying to digest everything she'd learned in the last half hour. Slowly she walked into the kitchen, pulling herself up on the island to sit. Absently, she snatched a slice of tomato from the cutting board and bit into it. Remington put the final touches on the sandwiches and slid the plates onto a tray. He nodded his head towards the veranda.

"Outside?" he asked. Laura nodded and hopped down off of the counter, grabbing the pitcher of ice water and glasses, following behind him, much like that morning. He waited until she'd taken the first bite of her sandwich, fiddling with his own nervously, before speaking.

"Uh, Laura…." He began, only to trail off and look away uncomfortably. She looked up at him, and shook her head.

"Why didn't you tell me? That's the only thing I want to know. I couldn't care less if you're broke or filthy rich. I just want to know why." She was neither angry, nor upset, simply… confused and a bit overwhelmed.

"Honestly?" he asked, leaning forward in his chair and giving his ear a tug.

"Isn't that what we've been doing lately?" she challenged. He nodded in agreement.

"I didn't lie. I simply allowed you to believe what you needed to believe. It was already so difficult for you – my past, never staying long in one place. As long as you believed I was tied to you, the Agency, for the lifestyle it offered, you'd at least believe you had that over me. The mere fact that you… overlooked… the number of… oddities… over the years only confirmed you needed that. I knew you'd asked the questions when you were ready to … err… accept the answers."

"But I never did," she pointed out and he nodded. "So why today? Why make sure that I ask the questions today?" He shook his head.

"I'm surprised you have to ask," he answered then reached across the table and took her hand in his. "Am I going anywhere, Laura?"

"No," she answered immediately and without a trace of doubt, yet looked at him, still clearly puzzled.

"Are you going anywhere?" She gave a short, answering laugh.

"Of course not. I thought we'd already settled this. Married. For better or worse. Remember?" He nodded, giving her hand a squeeze.

"Then why today?" he volleyed back to her, holding her eyes with his so that he could see the instant the answered registered with her.

"Because it no longer matters," she realized. He lifted her hand from the table and leaned across it to press his lips into her palm, eyes never leaving hers.

"Precisely," he confirmed sitting back in his chair again. Matter settled, he picked up his sandwich and took a bite. Perhaps a bit sooner than he should have, as he nearly choked when his precocious wife looked at him asked a question.

"Any other financial windfalls I need to be aware of? First the castle. Now this…" She was teasing, of course, and had no idea whatsoever how close to the mark she had come. Swallowing his food carefully and washing it down with a generous amount of ice water, he stood up and left the table, leaving her staring after him over her shoulder. _What's that about?_ she wondered. Picking up her glass, she took a drink of her own water. He'd returned, laying an envelope on the table, before she had time to set the glass back down.

"Actually, there _is_ another matter that's come up that I need to discuss with you," he answered, sitting down and pushing the envelope towards her. The sandwich in Laura's hand paused halfway to her mouth. Seeing the look of discomfiture on his face and the sudden tenseness in his body, she set her sandwich down and eyed him carefully.

"Alright…" she answered slowly. "What is it?" He nodded towards the envelope. Picking it up, she noted the address from where it came. "Daniel's attorney?" She asked.

"Daniel's will," he supplied. "Have a look." Opening the packet, she removed the papers and began to read. She looked up at him, shortly after beginning.

"He left you everything?" Remington nodded. Pursing her lips, she nodded as well. "I'm not surprised." She glanced at him, noting that he remained tense. "Are you?"

"In light of recent… revelations… no. Keep reading," he prodded. Laura leaned back in her chair, reading carefully through the documents, every once in a while picking up a piece of fruit and popping it into her mouth. Only when she'd read it through completely did she set the papers down, and sit back and wait for him to speak.

"What do you want to do, Laura?" he asked, carefully keeping his feelings on the matter concealed. From long experience he knew that she'd pick up on the slightest nuance if he allowed it to show and he wanted the decision to be hers and hers alone

"What do I want to do? It's not my inheritance, Remington," she pointed out in her ever logical fashion.

"Daniel, as you are well aware, would have acquired all of this from the shady side of the street. Is that something you would be able to live with: us accepting what he has left me, knowing that it came from less than legal means?"

She sank back into her chair, steepling her fingers and tapping them together. "I don't' know. I mean… I guess that it would depend on who it came from. Was it from bilking elderly women of their life savings? Was anyone hurt in the process? I don't know what to say."

"I once told you, Laura, that Daniel taught me to be an honorable miscreant. He drummed the code into me in my youth, the one he lived by: We take only from those that deserve to be taken from, we never take from those who cannot afford it, and the innocent are never to be harmed, especially children. He ran cons on men that thought nothing of killing others to get what they wanted, feeling that being relieved of their ill-gotten gains was just reward. People like Hoskins, Smith and the Countessa, who had more blood on their hands than some war criminals. The bulk of his estate came from stings such as those, especially in his later years. Of course, he's tried more elaborate ruses – such as the Whitewood con – but you saw yourself how those worked out for him. I won't deny that when I was younger he filched jewels from a woman or two, perhaps more. But, as far as I'm aware, the vast majority of his estate came from taking from those who took from others … he saw it as his own brand of divine justice."

"Then, at the end of the day," Laura said thoughtfully, "it was really no different than us stealing the Pitkins to use in trade for Molly or us heisting the dagger from Smith."

He nodded, then laughed. "I have to admit that was part of my pleasure when you and I would conduct a heist of our own. You were truly sharing in the life I had known before you, never realizing that you were. It was remarkable realizing how much you were like me in that way: taking a risk to bestow justice."

"And here I thought you enjoyed watching me go 'berserk' from the adrenaline rush," she laughed.

"Certainly there was that," he agreed. "My you are a sight during our heists. Cheeks rosy from the rush, your eyes lit bright…I have never seen you as alive as I do when we commit our little crimes. It's as though you have set free the part of yourself that you feel will cost you too much, yet for me it is one of the greatest pleasures, seeing you alive and free. I think its high time we embroil ourselves in another, so that we can both truly benefit from its effects this time around," he joked with a suggestive wag of his brows.

"Mmmm, I bet you do. We'll see," she said, an undeniable thrill of anticipation at the idea sending pleasant jolts through her body. Growing serious she returned to the matter at hand. "I think you should accept what your father left you. It would be important to him. And I think it's important to you."

Remington smiled at her. "And the homes, what of those?"

"What do you want to do? They're yours," she pointed out.

"Ours, _Mrs. Steele_ ," he corrected. "I have no desire to ever return to Monte Carlo, too many bad memories there." He rubbed his hand across his chin, looking at her thoughtfully. "I'd like to sell the flat there and turn the proceeds over to Mickeline and the staff to finance the renovations to Ashford. It would be our contribution to making the castle profitable, helping build the economy in Glen Cree… a way of keeping the Earl's legacy alive." She nodded thoughtfully.

"You'd need to make a trip there to make certain there is nothing incriminating there as well. Are you up to that?" He shook his head.

"I've a mutual friend going over the flat. As I said, I've no desire to return there, for any reason."

"Then, I think you already have the solution to the apartment there. The villa?

"I'd like for us to keep it – a place for us to get away from it all and just relax under the sun. This is the only place Daniel had ever truly called home."

She closed her eyes and nodded. Opening her eyes again she told him, "I'd love that. And the townhouse in London, the money and investments?"

"Leave the investments stand, move all the money into one account, then leave it stand as well. We've no need for it. Perhaps down the road, something will come to mind, perhaps not," he shrugged. "We can sit on the townhouse for a while until we decide how we want to proceed there. Find a tenant, create a little income if we wish."

"It would appear the decision's been made then, wouldn't you agree?" she asked, picking up her sandwich and taking a bite. He toyed with his sandwich watching her. Looking up at him through her lashes while taking a bite of her own, she managed to speak around the mouthful of food. "What's wrong?"

"Is it really going to be this easy?" he wondered aloud, giving his ear another tug, thoroughly perplexed.

"Seems so," she shrugged, taking another bite of her sandwich. "Didn't you say there was somewhere we need to go? You'd better eat."

"Yes," he answered slowly, thoughtfully. "It appears I should." Picking up his own sandwich he took a bite, smiling around the sandwich. It appeared there was a brand new phase of their partnership beginning – one in which communication was give and take, neither of them trying to gain the upper hand on the other, instead working towards a mutual decision. He found himself very… fond… of the entire experience. As for his lovely partner? He couldn't remember a time that he wanted her more.

* * *

Remington's mysterious destination, it turned out, was trip to the shadier side of the street. Surprisingly enough, in this case that street was in a rather upper crust neighborhood in Cannes and his contact lived in a home that would rival the stature of the McCullum estate. Laura studied the lush landscaping of the property while leaning around the car, waiting for him to join her. When he did, he tangled his fingers with hers and took several steps towards the stairs that would take them to the front door… and found she'd firmly planted her feet – quite literally.

"I thought our days of secrets and unwanted surprises were over, Remington." She looked at him pointedly. "Am I wrong, or would you mind filling me in on where we are and what we're doing here?"

"An insurance policy… three, actually." Laura eyed the mansion sitting in front of them, then back at him.

"Try again," she replied, an edge to her voice.

"The man that lives here is a master forger," he said on a sigh of frustration, "specializing in passports that can pass muster of even the most well-trained eye." She stared at him agog.

"Don't you think we've borrowed enough trouble where passports are concerned lately?" she asked, her voice rising in disbelief. He swiped a hand through his hair.

"Precisely the reason we're here," he said with icy calm. "If INS takes my passport and evicts me from the country – which we both have to admit is a very real possibility given our last encounter with Gladys Lynch – I'd like to know that I have a way of returning to my wife." Her blood ran cold at his words, in realizing that for the first time since London, she stood a very real chance of losing him.

"You don't really think that will happen, do you?"

"Can you deny that we presented less than a portrait of wedded bliss during Lynch's visit?"

"No, but, you don't really think…" she trailed off, shaking her head. "Why three passports?"

"Not three passports… three sets. I've no idea when we'll make it back here, and Stanley is the best there is. Insurance, as I said." She blew out a breath.

"I feel like I say this far more than I should, but I don't understand," she told him, frustration now peppering her words. "Why do I need a passport?"

"I'll not see you in jail for trying to help me, Laura," he told her, his voice almost fierce in his determination. "If it looks like that's the way the wind's blowing, we'll need to be able to make a quick, clean escape until we can get matters cleared up."

"Do you really think it's going to come to that?" she asked, visibly shaken.

"I certainly hope not, but I'd rather be prepared if it should." He waited her out. Closing her eyes she shook her head. _Well, this is a fine mess,_ she thought. _But he's right. We need to be prepared just in case. I won't see him in jail any more than he will me._ She opened her eyes and looked at him, her face a mask of icy calm now herself.

"Well, at the very least, then I better be Tracy Lord to your Dexter Haven on one set of those passports," she warned him. Relief visibly painted his features and he drew her into a swift, hard kiss. Releasing her, he took her hand again, Laura walking alongside him willingly this time.

"I wouldn't have it any other way, love," he agreed with a smile. "How would you feel about Mark and Joanna Wallace and, um, Regina Lambert and Peter Joshua for the remaining sets?"

"Grant and Finney? No Bogart? I seem to remember Bogart being your 'go to' on your last set of passports."

"Hmmmm," he hummed his agreement, "He certainly was. However, I seem to be fixated on Audrey Hepburn at the moment as she reminds me of a certain lovely young woman." Having reached the top of the steps, Remington depressed the doorbell, then turned to brush her hair off a shoulder. "Thank you."

"For what this time?"

"For not fighting me, at least too vigorously, on this." Reaching up she caressed his face with her hand.

"Purely selfish reasons, I assure you. I'm not going to sit back on my heels and watch you go to jail, any more than you will me. But if the worse does come to pass and you're deported, you'd better come right back home to me on the next flight." Fire lit his blood at her words. Stepping to her swiftly, he wrapped her in his arms and pulled her tight against his body, before his lips covered hers in a fierce kiss. When it ended, he pulled her tighter into his embrace, rocking her slightly, and burying his face in her neck finding her familiar scent.

"I'd like to see anyone try to stop me," he vowed. Her own arms tightened around him at his words. They only released one another when the door opened, and they stepped inside to where their new identities would be forged.

* * *

It was a casual evening for the young newlyweds. Returning back to the villa with three sets of expertly forged passports – Joanna and Mark Wallace of England, Tracy Lord and Dexter Haven of Australia, and Peter Joshua and Regina Lambert of Canada – Remington whipped up a heavenly pomegranate salmon that he served with a mushroom orzo and steamed sweet carrots for their evening meal. Afterwards, he and Laura enjoyed a playful swim in the tepid waters of the Med. They napped, briefly, in the hammock's gentle sway, before a pair of small hands enticed a long, lithe body awake, and they once more took on the challenge of making love, often shrieking with laughter when overenthusiasm would threaten to send them toppling to the pavers below. They'd taken to their seaside pool afterwards to cool off, a round of playful dunking leading to a thoroughly delicious little romp that had still failed to fully sate them. Instead, each merging of their bodies only left behind a craving so deep for one another that the likelihood of their needs being fully slaked seemed very slim, indeed.

* * *

They'd returned to the hammock some time ago, laying at opposite ends, pillows tucked under their heads, allowing them to converse easily. Out of habit, he'd picked up one of her feet and had begun to massage it, drawing out of her an occasional hum of bliss. Eventually she closed her eyes, threw an arm over her forehead and simply concentrated, with a contented smile playing on her lips, on the wondrously gentle hands soothing away the aches she hadn't even realized existed until he'd begun.

"I think your foot massages are what made me fall in love with you," she murmured off-handedly. A smile lifted the corners of Remington's mouth and surprise lit his face when he looked up at her.

"And here I thought it was my witty banter and sharp repartee that kept that agile mind of yours always working, trying to keep a step ahead," he teased.

"That too," she assured him. "But it's the little things, like your foot massages, that I'd never have associated with the man I first met that drew me to you." He raised a brow at her.

"Care to explain?" he asked with unmasked curiosity. She opened her eyes and looked at him, then with a purse of her lips, closed her eyes again and nodded.

"I think I do." She mulled her words before beginning. "I once likened your arrival in my life to a tsunami. One day my life is neat, efficient, organized, always knowing what I would be wearing the next day… hell, for the next week. I could tell you with reasonable accuracy what I would be doing at ten in the morning, three in the afternoon or nine in the evening. Everything was safe, predictable… filled with a bunch of those little lists you once accused me of having." He laughed.

"Nearly lobbed my head off for that one," he noted with a raised brow.

"Mmmm, you hit a little bit too close to home. It's… disconcerting… when someone can read you as well as you can me." The eye brow raised again.

"You don't say," he drawled, pointedly. She grinned at him, then twitched when he hit a particularly tender spot in her foot.

"We'll get that taken care of," he assured her under his breath.

"Then when you came along, there was nothing predictable about my life any longer. It seemed you made it a mission to keep me off balance, never allowing me to plan out even the smallest detail of my life. I never knew what to expect from you… or even if I could expect you at all, not knowing when you'd finally decide that the amusement of playing detective had runs its course. Then there was the fact that you were a chameleon, constantly changing. One minute you were this smarmy, Lothario who thought with just a wink and a smile you'd have me begging to jump in your bed, and the next?" Without opening her eyes, she waved a hand in the general direction of her foot. "This. It took me a while to figure it out and even then it was no less… confusing." Watching her, he lay down her foot and picked up the other. She shifted subtly to get more comfortable, but remained silent.

"What did you figure out, love?" he quietly prompted. She smiled at the endearment, still neither used to it nor tired of it.

"Personas. You were sliding in an out of any number of personas throughout the workday, depending on how you were feeling. To a much lesser extent when we were alone together, but early on, even then." He didn't deny her words but felt her out, curious as to how she'd identified it when no one else in his life previously had.

"Oh? And how did you come to that conclusion."

"I put it together during the Stanton case when you slipped so openly into the persona of Sam Spade. You were thrown off balance by Swan and Spade offered you a… respite… from this very rigid role of Remington Steele you'd found yourself in. It had always seemed so easy for you to slide into role, but that day you made me realize it was no easier for you than it was for me." He frowned slightly at her.

"What an odd notion. I've always thought I took on the role with gusto, with aplomb. Granted, not meeting the mark all the time but still doing the role justice for the most part." She shook her head adamantly.

"That's not what I mean. But I'll get back to that in a minute. The point is, once I figured it out, it became clear. You were constantly shifting your personality to fit a given situation, to deal with anger, insecurity, frustration," she opened her eyes, glanced at him, then shut them again "…most significantly when you were feeling out of your element, which was fairly often that first year."

"And since?" he asked.

"Less and less frequently as the years have passed, but you still revert to old habits on occasion." His hands stilled, and he stared hard at her.

"There I'd have to disagree with you…" he began, only to be cut off when she sat up and looked at him.

"Are you going to deny that I woke to John Robie in Mexico, that he accompanied me on the plane home?" she challenged with an edge to her voice. "That Paul Fabrini was on the dance floor with me at the Flamingo? And I haven't put a name to the role yet… but know for certain it's neither Johnny Todd nor Harry Chalmers… that personality of yours where your accent becomes short, brisk, formal, cold; where you close yourself off from me with this wall of ice. He was there at the lake when we discussed Tony. He was there at the Spa. He almost inevitably appears when I wound you or you believe that I have. Can you deny any of that?" He averted his eyes, refusing to answer.

Truth be told, he was stunned by her assessment. He well knew that he'd taken on the role of Robie to make it through that trip home from Mexico, but was unaware he'd slipped since. That he had - and now that she'd pointed the precise times out, he had to admit he'd done just that – was more than a bit disconcerting as it spoke to just how close he believed he'd come to losing everything.

"No," he finally conceded, his fingers resuming their movement.

"Rem," she said quietly, stroking her hand along his leg, "I'm not making judgments or pointing fingers. These roles, these personas, are what carried you through a childhood no one should have to endure and I'm grateful they helped you survive. I really am." His eyes flicked towards her then away again. Withdrawing her foot from his hand, she carefully moved across the length of the hammock, stretching out on her side facing him. A stroke of her hand over his shoulder and down his arm had him turning onto his side as well. As soon as he'd settled, she caressed her fingers through his hair. "Why are you so upset?" He let out a deep, tense breath of air.

"I hadn't realized that I'd, as you put it, reverted to 'old habits.' Robie yes, a conscious choice, that one. But the others? Even if I don't always consciously make the choice, I'm normally well aware that I've done it. That I hadn't…" Her hand slipped down out of his hair to caress his cheek.

"Speaks to exactly how much turmoil there was going on around us, I think. Nothing more." He searched her face, and whatever it was that he found there saw the tension leaving his body. Mimicking her, his hand reached up to caress her face.

"Perhaps," he agreed. Tilting her head up, Laura pressed a soft kiss to his lips. A smile lifted his lips. "You were saying?" Pursing her lips, she searched for where she'd left off.

"Once I figured out that you were retreating into these roles, it became easier, less confusing. It made all of those little things about you that you tried so hard to conceal even more obvious." Both brows lifted in her direction this time.

"What 'little things?'" She hummed as she considered her words.

"Wallace. That innate, almost fierce need to stand up for and defend those you care about. The need for justice, that is as deeply rooted in you as it is in me. Veronica Kirk, showing how gentle and protective you are. Sheldon Quarry and Alfred Hollis - you have a soft spot for nebbishes and underdogs…"

"As lovely as this assessment of my attributes are, I'm not quite sure what this has to do with my foot massages…" he teased lightly. Her hand stroked down over her neck, to his chest, tangling in, playing in the hair there.

"Little pieces of the real you, the one you were so determined to hide for the longest time." She slid her hand back up his chest to rest on his neck, laughing when he promptly picked up her hand and returned it to his chest. "But, I'm guessing you're fishing for a list of those attributes that drew me to you on a far more personal level?" she asked with a knowing lift of her brows. He lifted his brows to her with a smile in answer.

"Well, it certainly wasn't the magnum of champagne as Murphy believed," she laughed. "It was those small touches throughout the day, the ones that said you needed to be close to me. I've told you that before. It was in how you knew, without me ever saying a word, when I just needed a quiet night at home with you, laying in front of the fire, watching a movie and not a night on the town. It was how when we danced, you tended to stroke the back of your fingers down my arm, leaned down to talk next to my ear, showing me that you …" she frowned for a second, her eyes concentrating on her hand as it explored his chest, "… I don't know… cherished, maybe, the intimacy of those times. Then it's those other things…." He trailed his lips along her jaw.

"By all means, go on. What other things?" She shrugged.

"Those things you do to take care of me, without thought. The foot massages. The meals. Working away my headaches. But it's also in how you don't treat me as though you think I can't take care of myself. You let me fight my own battles, unless it's against an opponent that has an unfair advantage over me. When we first met, I wouldn't have associated any of these things with you. Did I know from the start that we'd be great in bed together? I did. Did I imagine any of this?" she asked, flicking her wrist between them. "Not on your life… not at first." His lips ceased their travel across her brow, and he adjusted himself so they were face-to-face.

"Do you know what drew me to you?" He chuckled. "I think we can discount the nice apartment and great wardrobe angle now." She smiled and shook her head at him, still not having completely absorbed all she'd learned that morning.

"By all means…" she prompted.

"You looked at me and saw I had more to offer than a tantalizing night in bed, a good partner on the dance floor, or someone that could pull off a magnificent heist or sting. You not only saw it, but demanded that I live up to it. As irritating as it was at times, it was always… intoxicating." She smiled widely at him.

"I'll have to remind you of that the next time you get irritated with me for demanding that you step up to the plate." He laughed quietly.

"I'm sure you will at that." Shifting, he resumed where he'd left off, scattering kisses across her brow. "Now, what was that business about the role being as hard for me as it as for you?" A small frown drew across her brow again, her fingers seeking his ribs.

"It was what something you said to me during the Stanton case…"

* * *

" _ **Steele is so boringly honest, such a paragon of integrity."**_

* * *

"I had told you at the Devil's Playground that I might have invented a man who no one could live up to. But it wasn't until you said that, that I realized how hard it truly had to be for you, trying to live up to those standards all the time. For me to constantly _demand_ that you live up to those standards. Not that I ever stopped," she admitted, wryly. "It took me a long time to realize, that your assumption of the role was just as hard for me, maybe in some ways even more so."

"Because I swiped the role from you?" he asked, adjusting himself so that he could lavish her neck with attention." She sighed at the contact, fought to concentrate.

"In a way. You have no idea what it's like to create this fictional man in your head, then suddenly there stands a living, breathing rendition of him. A very real, very flawed human being that could never live up to the Remington Steele I envisioned. Often blaming you, getting angry at you for that. Then later, as you stopped seeing Remington Steele as a role, but as who you were, it only became more confusing…" she trailed off. Sensing that she had grown troubled, his lips stilled on her neck. Leaning back to look at her, he plucked her hand from his chest, so that he could give attention to each finger while keeping their eyes connected.

"Tell me," he prompted. She took a deep breath and let it out.

"I began to wonder if this was your choice or if I imposed it on you. Was this who you wanted to be? Was this life the one that you really wanted? If it wasn't for what's between us, would you have chosen to be _someone_ else, do _something_ else? Are you living the life I decided for you, because it was the life I created for my fictional Mr. Steele? And if that's the case, I'm not being very fair to you." She looked at Remington askance when he quietly began to laugh at the questions she'd posed.

"You might be surprised to know that both Felicia and Daniel have both posed a similar variation of that question to me in the past. Granted, I may find legwork annoying, paperwork mind-numbingly tedious at times, but I enjoy what we do. Certainly, we rarely find ourselves bored and what we do has… purpose." He sidled his body closer to hers. "As for the rest of it? For the first time in my life, I not only know who I am but where I wish to be." Brushing her hair back over her shoulder, he reached to bring her near… only to watch as she rolled away from him and off the hammock. Sitting up he watched her drop her cover-up to the veranda floor, as she walked towards the doors leading into the house.

Laura turned her head, and looked back over her shoulder at him. "I'm going to take a bath. Care to join me Mr. Steele?" She entered the house without waiting for an answer, dropping the top of her bikini to the ground before leaving his sight.

 _Exactly where I want to be._ Rolling off the hammock, he followed Laura inside.

* * *

In the stillness of the early morning hours, those pre-dawn minutes where birds end their call and the winds quiet, Remington lay pressed atop Laura, body quaking, heart beating rapidly, face pressed into her neck breathing the honeysuckle, grass and sunshine scent of her that never failed to quell his restless spirit. Her short, rapid breaths stirred his hair, her small hands gliding a pathway from neck to bottom, her way of reminding him she was near as he tried to find his way back to her. The experience was still too new to him, the feeling that as he found his release with in her that he was baring a peace of his soul. He knew it was the same for her, as she would inevitably pull him tight against her, finding a unique form of solace in his skin against hers, the scent of him mingled with sweat reminding her that she, neither, was alone in the overwhelming feelings that their love making would stir.

They'd both already begun to recognize that much like the kisses and random touches they'd shared through the years, the way their bodies merged together as one also held its own nuances. On the hammock earlier in the evening, their joining had been filled with laughter, talking and teasing – pure enjoyment of one another, their long abiding friendship guiding their way. When they'd made love in the pool it had been about their gentle passion for one another, a quiet exploration of sensations they'd denied themselves of for far too long. In the hours since they'd returned to the house, there'd been a fair mixture of both, until the last time, as it always seemed to be, when making love had turned the inevitable corner to love making.

Here, it was about connection. Everything slowed down. Feather light touches glazed over a cheek, a waist, down a spine. Lips fluttered over skin, worshipping the long column of a neck, the breadth of a strong shoulder. Fingers stroked lovingly through silken strands of hair on the head, through the shorter, courser hair of a chest. Whispered words of affection – "love," "sweetheart," "babe" – were the mainstay of any conversation, interspersed only with reverent susurrations of Gaelic – "Mo brea'gha ghra" as the fine British accent devolved into the whimsical cadence of his childhood Irish. Hands sought hands, fingers tangled, foreheads touched as he slowly sent her over the first time, only to slowly make her climb upwards again as lips brushed, pressed, opened in search of more contact. Only when Laura found her pleasure for the second time would Remington allow her clenching muscles to draw him high and tight, bringing him to his own, aching release.

Afterwards, it was only after he found his center again under her gentle touches that would he shift, separating them, in order to roll to his side facing her, where hands would continue to stroke with loving caresses, while lips touched and eyes held. It was here that she would softly say the words he held so dear – "I love you, Rem" – and he had found a way to respond in kind that didn't leave his heart racing, his words choked off – "I hope near as much as I, you", leading her to fold herself into his body, to keep him near. Only then would a quiet conversation take part, often lulling them to sleep.

"Rem?" Laura's voice, quiet as a summer breeze, broke the silence first.

"What is it, love?" he asked just as quietly while pressing his lips against the top of her head.

"Tomorrow's our last day here. What do you have planned next?" Her fingers skimmed along his ribs, in the soothing rhythm that would inevitably find him relaxing into sleep.

"Where would you like to go? Paris, Milan, Venice? Prague, perhaps?" he queried, rolling a silken strand of hair between his fingers.

"Oia. You haven't spent enough time there. Marcos, Elena, your brothers and sister? All of them need more time with you, and I think you need it with them, too." He leaned back to look at her, nearly dumbstruck by her words.

"You want to return to Greece?" Laura lifted herself onto an elbow to stroke that damp lock of hair from his forehead.

"It's your home," she offered simply. His hand brushed her hair back off her face, a finger tracing the outline of her jaw.

"You're my home," he corrected.

"It's family then," she amended. He shook his head, amazed that she could still surprise him after all the years they'd spent together.

"You're sure?" he asked, simultaneously enthused as an idea took life in the back of his head and regretful as he was not quite prepared to share their time together with anyone else.

"Yes," she whispered simply, around a soft yawn. Lowering herself back down and nuzzling her head into his chest, she settled in to sleep. Her hand found his, wrapped around it, so she could tuck their joined hands up against herself.

"I'll call in the morning and make the reservations," he said quietly in the moments before he heard her soft sigh of surrender to sleep. The last thought on his mind as he faded away as well were the words Marcos had said to him decades before: _Just think of the possibilities._

* * *

 _Author's Note: Enjoying the story so far? Leave me feedback. Feedback helps me gauge where my stories will go in the future and helps me keep true to the characters. I sincerely thank anyone who takes the time to read the stories. It makes me smile to know 30 years after this show ended, so many still love it for all that it was :)_


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 7: Old Paramours, New Obsessions

For the first time since Ireland, Laura woke to find Remington tucked around her, her body spooned into his, an arm wrapped possessively around her waist, keeping her close. Based on the even rise and fall of the chest pressed to her back, he continued to slumber. For days now their normal routines had been suddenly reversed: She, the early riser, sleeping well into the mid-morning and he, the late sleeper, rousing early enough to have breakfast ready and waiting when she'd wake. To find their roles restored was satisfying enough, but only made all the more appealing by the fact it meant waking with him rather than without.

She spent several long minutes luxuriating in his nearness: breathing in his earthy scent; enjoying the feel of his breath against her hair; the tickling of his chest hair against her back; the weight of the leg tucked between hers. All of it combined was thoroughly intoxicating. Recognizing it would take longer to get her fill of his closeness than there was day left, she reluctantly eased his arm off her and carefully slid herself out from under his leg. _Shower, coffee, food, in that order,_ she told herself, laying out the time immediately before her.

Showered and dressed in quick order, Laura quickly French braided her damp hair then took a hair dryer to the bangs she'd had cut in a moment of impetuousness. A moment that she greatly regretted, as she lifted a lip in disdain towards her reflection. _Easy to take care of my eye,_ she groused to herself now. _Ten minutes with brush and dryer and they're still doing whatever they want. Never again,_ she vowed. Tossing down her brush in irritation she decided to forgo makeup for the morning, and stepped out of the bathroom to head to the kitchen.

Laura's eyes wandered to the bed as she crossed through the bedroom. She paused in her step and allowed herself a moment to simply take in his tousled hair and whiskered jaw, the bare shoulders and chest. The temptation to strip back down and slide into bed with him, to wake him enticingly, was strong. Her stomach rudely rumbling served as a reminder, however, that she could not survive on feasting on him alone. She settled on leaning over the bed and pressing a soft kiss against his lips, a smile playing across his lips even in his sleep at the contact.

In the kitchen, she flipped on the coffee maker, then filling the tea kettle set it on a low flame on the stove. While her lack of kitchen skills was legendary, rummaging through the refrigerator she figured that even she was capable of putting together a breakfast of French toast and bacon. Nursing her now brewed cup of coffee, she found the cutting board, rinsed off a generous number of strawberries she'd taken from the refrigerator and began slicing them while humming a pretty little tune. When the task was completed, she whipped up an egg bath, before turning a skeptical eye on the cookware in the cupboard in front of her. Unlike Remington, she couldn't have told you who made the pans stored there, but she knew without a doubt they were costly. The thought of damaging their surfaces should she have one of her infamous kitchen mishaps was enough to intimidate her. A quiet laugh behind her had her spinning on her heels.

Remington leaned on a shoulder against the wall to the entrance of the kitchen. He'd arrived just in time to see her staring with dismay at the cookware, and it had not taken a remarkable amount of thought to know precisely what was going through her mind. Lips twitching with amusement, he pushed himself off the wall while trying to adhere a stern look upon his face.

"Really, Laura," he drawled, with a shake of his head, "trying to subrogate me from my kitchen, to take away from me one of my true pleasures?" Her own lips trembled from suppressed mirth.

"Since you haven't declared me the victor in our little competition yet, I thought I'd provide you an example of what may lay in your future," she teased. He looked at her in mock horror.

"In that case I concede to you as the victor," he told her with a wink, while nudging her aside to pull a two pans down from the rack. "I can't very well have you depriving me of one of the few ways you allow me to care for you, now can I?" Willingly conceding the cooking duties to him, she pushed herself up on the counter and swiped a slice of strawberry from the cutting board, watching as he sprinkled cinnamon and nutmeg into the egg bath she'd prepared while she mulled his words.

"Is that really how you see it?" she asked. He glanced at her as he set the bacon to cooking, puzzled for a moment, then shrugged.

"Mmmmm," he hummed, dipping the bread slices into the egg bath, then allowing them to set. "In truth you allow me to do very little for you: The occasional foot massage, more recently helping sooth those headaches of yours. Preparing meals for you." Nicking another slice of strawberry, she nibbled on it, while contemplating what he said.

"Does that bother you?" He didn't answer immediately, focusing instead on setting slices of bread into the now sizzling, buttered pan. He chose his words carefully.

"Would I enjoy being able to do more for you? Absolutely," his voice softening on the last word, he bussed her neck before moving to the refrigerator. "More often than not the caretaking in this relationship has been considerably lopsided, to say the least," he answered, keeping his voice casual as he placed kiwi and oranges next to the cutting board to slice. Turning back to the stove, he tended to the bacon and French toast.

"How's that? I don't recall even once giving you a massage or cooking a meal, at least an edible one, for you. It seems to me that you do far more for me than the other way around." He looked at her affectionately, always amazed by her refusal to see, let alone take credit for, her role in the life he'd claimed.

"Other than helping me create a life that I take a great deal of pride in? Giving me a home for the first time in my life? Having put life and living on the line for me time and again? Tending to my wounds when I've been knocked about?" Knife pausing in his hand, he leaned in and brushed his lips against her neck. "Married me, to keep me near?"

"My piano?" She countered. "Being there, after Veckmer burned down my house? Helping me turn the Agency into one that is known internationally? Never treating me as though I was less than capable for the mere fact of being a woman? Saving my life at the Federal Reserve, in Acapulco, Malta… more times that I can count really? Giving me the time I needed to believe that being in love with you… making love with you… didn't mean an end but a beginning?" He grinned widely at her last sentence, as he doled out French toast and bacon onto their plates. Turning off the gas to the burners, he set the pans on the stove to let them cool. Moving to her, he leaned over and skimmed his lips against hers, then inching closer, settled his mouth over hers, gradually deepening the kiss. Her hands settled on his hips, urging him closer still.

"Rem…" Laura mumbled against his lips, draping her arms lightly around his neck, fingering the hair at his collar. Lips parting hers, his eyes took in the smoky desire lighting her eyes. She drew her fingers through his hair. "Take me to bed," she told him, voice husky with desire, her hands skimming over his shoulder to drape around his neck again. Bending his head, he kissed her, even as he swept her up in his arms, carrying her towards the bedroom.

"Breakfast?" he asked against her lips.

"Later…" she told him, kissing him between words, "…much… much… later." He hummed his approval, as he lay her on the bed and folded himself on top of her.

And much later it was. They made love, dozed, then made love again. After another short nap, they finally made it into the shower, where shampooing one another's hair, washing one another's bodies led to predictable results. Once dressed, they returned to the kitchen to nibble on their now room temperature food. Neither noticed, concentrating as they were only on each other.

"How would you feel about a trip to the casino?" Remington suggested. "Perhaps we could win back some of that finder's fee Mildred lost me. Then early dinner, some dancing at La Palme d'Or, followed by a night cap, so to speak, back at the casino?" Laura pursed her lips, considering his suggestion.

"My last foray into gambling, if you recall, left me more than a little out of control. If it happens again?" she asked around a mouthful of French toast. He wagged his brows suggestively at her.

"I carry you off to a room upstairs, where I can take thorough advantage of that enticing adrenaline rush this time 'round." Laura laughed.

"Well, as long as you _promise_ …" Leaning over he scattered strawberry and kiwi tinged kisses over her lips.

"It would be… my absolute… most delectable… pleasure… Mrs. Steele." Laura flushed.

"Well, in that case, what are we waiting for?" she asked, popping the last slice of kiwi in her mouth.

A short time later, dishes and cookware washed, dried and put away, they moved to their bedroom to change for the afternoon and evening ahead.

* * *

Despite it being the middle of the afternoon, the casino was packed. Black jack tables were full, people crowded around roulette, and people of all ages were pulling at the one-armed bandits, dreams of sudden fortune filling their eyes while they filled the gut of ravenous machines with their coins. Bells dinged, people laughed, and over it all, music played. Laura found it… intoxicating.

Remington's eyes roved appreciatively over his wife slim form. She was wearing an emerald green sheath that stopped at her knees, showing off her long legs, while slithering over her breasts then emphasized her slim waist. The dress was held up by two narrow straps, leaving her shoulders bare. Her hair was clipped to the side with a matching emerald clip. Her eyes shimmered with excitement and her skin was flushed with anticipation. He eyed the opaque silk stockings that covered her tantalizing legs, his blood heating at the mere thought of running his hands over them. She looked… utterly delectable, he thought. He noted the men glancing at her, occasionally doing double takes as she passed by, clearly finding her desirable. But he felt no jealousy, only pride. She was all his and he was happy to let the world know it, as he put an arm on the small of her back and guided her to the craps table.

She looked at him askance. "Craps? Playing the odds so soon, Mr. Steele?" He winked at her.

"Mmmmmm, not quite yet, though I assure you your time will come. I thought I'd give it a whirl first this time 'round." Remington grabbed the dice the stickman shoved his way. Dropping fifty pounds down on the pass line, he shook his hand preparing to roll, when Laura asked "Don't you want me to blow on your dice?"

He stopped, then turned to her, and catching her eyes told her "Having you by my side is the only luck I ever need, _Mrs. Steele_." Brushing a kiss across her smiling lips, he threw the dice.

"Seven, bet pays". Laura grinned at him. Letting the bet stand, he tossed again. "Eleven, bet pays." Nodding, he allowed the bet and winnings to stand then threw. "Point, 9." Her hand skimmed along a cheek of his bottom. Grinning he turned to look at her, noted the raised brows over sultry brown eyes. "9, bet pays." She grabbed him and crushed her mouth to his. He could literally feel the hum of her body. Glancing down at her, while smacking his lips together, still tasting her on him, he appreciated her flushed skin, bright eyes. _Another missed opportunity. I could have had her in my bed years ago, simply by taking her to play a round of craps. Adrenaline, a positively delightful thing it is._

He played for a little over ten minutes, and, with streak still intact, indicated he was done. As he began to collect the piles of chips, he looked over and found Laura looking at him as though he had suddenly sprouted a second head.

"What are you doing? We're winning!" He hummed his agreement.

"That we are, love, and the wise gambler understands you only win by walking away," he told her, "because the streak must end at some point. Shall we?" Chips gathered, he put his hand on her waist and guided her towards the blackjack tables.

Handing her a generous stack of chips, he held her chair for her as she sat. Once seated he claimed the chair next to her, moving it ever so slightly closer to her, so that bodies could brush with little movement, and fingers could stroke. Bets placed and cards dealt, they examined their cards. With a palm facing downward, Remington waved his hand over his cards, he indicated he would stand. A scrape of cards against the table, saw the dealer send a single card Laura's way. Dimples flashed at the four dealt her.

"Dealer stands at 20. House pays the lady, 21."

On a soft laugh, he leaned over to whisper against her ear, "Love, you don't hit on 17, it's a sure loss." Her breath caught at the sensation of his warm breath caressing her ear, as he'd intended.

"Looks like it won to me," she laughed, breathily. He smiled and flagged down a waitress, requesting two glasses of champagne. _Putty in my hands,_ he thought, reveling in the knowledge that all her walls had been fully vanquished and he intended to take full advantage of that fact. _Seduction among the gaming tables._ He hummed in anticipation, flashing her a smile when she caught the small sound. Another hand won, was rewarded by long, tapered fingers brushing across the back of her neck, along the back of a bare shoulder, her pulse raced, skin flushed. For the better part of two hours, each hand won was answered with a brush of fingers or lips against her person, warm breath heating her skin, leaving them both thoroughly aroused as well he'd intended.

From across the room, they'd been watched by a pair of eyes with unconcealed interest. Standing the man gave a nod to his companion, while the woman answered with a promise that she'd see him upstairs once her business was completed. Companion departed, the woman made her way across the room toward Laura and Remington.

Leaning over to brush his lips across the tip of a bare shoulder, Remington froze, as a pair of hands ran across his shoulders and down his chest, an all too familiar and unwelcome scent wafting in the air as a pair of teeth nipped softly at his neck. He didn't even have to hear her voice before he knew who it was. A glance towards Laura showed her smile had frozen in place, the flush of desire turning to a blush of humiliation as jealousy and hurt collided in her eyes.

Grabbing the hands still running over his chest, he locked his hand around both wrists, pulling them away from him as he stood. As soon as he turned around, Felicia's lips were on his. Grunting, he dropped her arms and grabbing a pair of shoulders set her away from him. Before he could take a step, she had her hands around him, running them down over the cheeks of his bottom.

"Michael, what a delightful surprise. Aren't you glad to see me?" she asked, laughing as he pried himself away again. Moving with the quick, lithe movements of a cheetah on the hunt, Felicia squirmed out of his hold, and ran strong, confident fingers along the length of his rock hard, arousal. "I see that you are," she purred.

"Felicia," he growled in warning, slapping her hand away from him, while taking a pronounced step away from her towards Laura. Felicia pretended to only then notice Laura sitting next to him.

"Why Lisa, whatever are you doing here? Isn't this a bit far from your little nest back in LA?" Felicia asked, needling Laura as she grabbed Remington's hips again, only to have him slap both of her hands off of him. While he often could sidle out of situations like this with Felicia gracefully, he was losing patience quickly as he saw the enjoyment Laura had been having that afternoon fade away.

"Felicia…" he warned again.

"Come now, darling," she trilled, running a finger down his front from neck to belt, "Why don't you just leave little Lisa here to her own devices and we'll go find something more… amusing … to occupy ourselves with," she suggested. He grabbed her wrist, removing her hand from his person and holding it firm this time.

"Laura," he reminded her with a glower, not for the first time over the years. "Laura Steele, as a matter of fact." Felicia waved away his reference to their marriage with a flip of her free hand.

"Shannon already told us all, darling, all about your naughty little scam," she told him, flashing him a satisfied little smile. "The INS won't know if we have a little fun. After all, they're all the way over in the States while we're here." She stepped in closer to him. "I've a room upstairs, just begging to be put to delicious use." Her tongue flicked against her lips. "A little reenactment of Bordeaux, perhaps? You were quite the tiger then. Romanic yet savage," she growled in the back of her throat at the memory. She flashed Laura a disinterested look, then returning her gaze to Remington, dismissed her with a bored, "You won't mind, will you Lisa?"

Remington watched the look of hurt deepen in Laura's eyes when she realized that their marriage being a scam was well known amongst his old peers. _I intend for us to take care of that very soon, love,_ he thought to himself, though refrained from saying the words aloud. He watched as she shook off the hurt, slid off her chair, and straightening her shoulders while tipping up her chin, narrowed her eyes on Felicia. She stepped between Remington and Felicia.

"As a matter of fact, I would," she answered, her voice icy calm in its inflection. "And I'd thank you to keep your hands off _my husband_ , if you don't mind." Beaming down at her with pride, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her back tight against his front, his lips pressing against the top of her head. That she'd staked her claim to the woman she once viewed as competition for his affections was not lost on him, and it clenched at his heart.

Felicia studied the couple thoughtfully.

"Well, seems I was right all those years ago, Michael. Doesn't it?" Felicia asked, taking in his clear affection for the woman in his arms, his possessiveness of her.

"Right about precisely what, Felicia?" he asked in clipped, cool voice, still thoroughly annoyed by her antics.

"That she'd caught you by the heart, of course," she answered, slightly perturbed that he'd forced her to voice it.

"Yes, you were. But I believe I've been clear about that before." Felicia smirked, her eyes taking on a greedy little cast that didn't escape his notice. His own eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What are you about, Felicia, eh?"

"Just settling a little wager, darling… A rather large one actually. I believe the odds are at twenty-five to one currently." He raised a brow at her, but it was Laura that spoke.

"A wager on what?" she asked, unable to squelch her innate curiosity. Felicia laughed lightly.

"Why on the two of you, darling. All that prattling on of Shannon's about Michael marrying you only to stay in country…" Her eyes fell on their left hands. Without thought she grabbed one hand in each of her own and lifted them to peer at the rings, studying them with the critical eye of the jewel thief she was. She lifted shocked eyes to Remington's. "Well, if I hadn't known before that I was correct, I certainly would now. These rings must be worth at least a…"

"Family heirlooms," Remington interrupted, removing their hands from her grasp and returning them to Laura's waist. He cast Felicia a look before she could finish the sentence, a look that clearly told her not to tread in those waters. She turned an appraising eye on Laura, studying her from head-to-foot.

"I knew you had some breeding about you, but I'd no idea you came from that kind of wealth," she commented, then mulled the thought further. "Explains a lot, actually…"

"I don't," Laura informed Felicia succinctly, knowing that the woman had decided Remington had courted her for her wealth, which couldn't have been further from the truth. "Family heirlooms from his side, not mine." The stunned look brought on by Laura's words, was quickly replaced by a combination of open curiosity and rapprochement directed at Laura.

"I thought we agreed, those many years ago, darling, that when he revealed his name across silken pillows you'd ring me up," she paused, trying to assess the carefully blanked look on Laura's face, and failed read anything at all on it. "You _do know_ his real name, don't you?"

"Yes, _I do_ ," Laura nodded, knowing that this fact, if no other, would cement it in Felicia's eyes that Remington was Laura's and Laura's alone. "And we never had an agreement. You demanded, I ignored, if you recall. It's Remington's choice, and his alone, to share the details of his life, not mine." His hand gave hers a slight squeeze, while he nuzzled his cheek on the side of her head. Felicia gave Laura an open look of admiration.

"I must commend you, darling, on succeeding where all others, including myself, have failed. Not only in wringing a commitment from Michael and somehow… though _that_ how alludes me… shackling him to you for life… but also in actually gaining his trust enough that he'd share that little detail with you." Laura's lips quirked in amusement and she gave her head a small shake.

"I didn't _wring_ anything or _shackle_ anyone, _he_ did that all on his own." He chuckled softly next to her ear, drawing Felicia's attention.

"So, tell me, darling, for old time's sake… what's your _real_ name?" He grinned at her.

"Remington Steele… my _legal_ birth certificate states it as such," he answered, unansweringly. Felicia huffed in vexation.

"And before that?" He shrugged carelessly, then releasing Laura, stepped from behind her.

"Felicia, as always, it's been… interesting," he qualified wryly, placing a kiss on each of her cheeks. "But as my wife and I are on our honeymoon, I believe we'd like to get back to it."

"Well," Felicia said in parting, "If you're truly off the market, at least I walk away with my pockets fifty-thousand pounds heavier."

"Fifty thousand pounds?" Laura asked, wondering what con game Felicia playing here in Cannes.

"My winnings, darling. I was, after all, the only one that believed that Michael had given up the life and bound himself to wedded domesticity. Perhaps a bit unfair, insider's knowledge and all, but I can hardly let that bother me. Instead, I'll raise a toast for the both of you as I spend my winnings in some delightful little shops in Paris." With a backwards wave, Felicia departed for the room where to which her gentleman friend had gone earlier.

Watching Felicia saunter off, Laura turned into him, wrapping her arms loosely around his waist, looking up at him as he took note of the time on his watch. "Well, it seems that's that," she said with a smile.

"Would seem so," he agreed huskily, touching his lips to hers. Shall we cash out and be on our way, Mrs. Steele? We've early reservations at Le Palme d'Or in half an hour." Releasing her arms, she began helping him clear away the chips.

"And afterwards…?" she eyed him, a smile playing on her lips.

"Back to the casino, game of your choice. Care to make a side wager?" he dared, holding her eyes with his own. She broke eye contact and began walking towards the cashier's window, his hand on the small of her back.

"What did you have in mind?"

"Winner's choice of the games played once we get home," he suggested with a wag of his brow.

"You're on, Mr. Steele," she grinned, her mind immediately turning to exactly what she'd do to him this time around. Seeing the look on her face, he laughed appreciatively.

"I find myself once more truly appreciating that wicked mind of yours, love," stepping next to her, and wrapping his arm around her waist to pull her to his side in a soft hug.

"We'll see just how much you appreciate it once I'm done with you," she promised in a sultry voice, then watched with a smirk as he stumbled.

* * *

After a sumptuous meal that began with a mouth-watering spider crab that was followed by a succulent Dublin Bay prawn accompanied by a decadent Coche-Dury Corton-Charlemagne Chardonnay, Laura and Remington swayed together on the dance floor. Both of their bodies were humming again, as he'd been intent on restoring the mood after Felicia's appearance at the casino had obliterated all the delightful effects of his seductive campaign against her senses there. What he'd not anticipated was her counter-campaign upon his senses here in the restaurant, meeting his provocative glances, arousing brushes of his fingertips, and spine tingling suckling of the pulse points at her wrists, with body jolting strokes of those silk clad feet up a pant leg, along the inside of a thigh under the cover of the table cloth. Anyone in the restaurant observing them would have no idea of the games being played, but Laura's dazed amber eyes and Remington's desire filled blue eyes that had darkened to indigo left neither of them with any doubt of their effect upon the other. He'd said a small prayer of thanks that his suit jacket concealed his very apparent reaction to her efforts, elsewise, they'd have found them sitting at the dinner table for hours before he would be decent again.

It was a campaign launched with purpose, as he suspected he'd need her ever logical mind to go on hiatus for a bit, if you will. As much as he adored rational Laura, he needed her heart to be present in the moments ahead, not the dexterous mind that could well waylay a spontaneous and heartfelt answer.

"A vast improvement over the last time we dined here," he ventured, quietly. Laura leaned back and looked at him with sultry brown eyes.

"I agree," she hummed. It was, after all, here that they'd dined in the few short hours before she'd ended them in Cannes. He'd suspected all day that her decision had been made, as it had, and the conversation between them had been stilted, awkward, as they tap danced around the reality that the romance they'd been nurturing for nearly two years was about to come to an end. Tonight, though, dinner at this same restaurant was enjoyed, both of them recognizing it for what it was: a nod to the life that they were about to embark on together. No more dancing around one another, only with. That knowledge had fueled the fires of the passions they'd provoked in one another through the meal.

"Laura… love…," he paused to brush his lips against hers, the backs of his fingers down an arm, feeling comforted by the tremor he felt under his fingertips as he did so. "I was hoping you might do something for me while we're in Greece." A hand slid up his back, so fingers could toy with the ends of his hair.

"Oh, what's that?" she asked in a dreamy voice, lost in the pleasure of being held in his arms, the feel of him under her hands. An arm left her waist, only for a hand to appear in her sight lines moments later. She stared at the two fingers holding up a stunning ring between them.

"Will you marry me?" he asked softly, watching her eyes fasten on the ring, before she looked away and lay her head against his shoulder. Acute disappointment swept through him at his belief she'd summarily rejected his proposal without a word. When a pair of lips pressed against his neck, and a head tilted up to lay next to his ear, he stilled.

"Yes, I will," she said on a warm breath that caressed his ear. He began dancing again as joy coursed through him – joy that he quickly reined in, needing to know that she understood the entirety of what he was asking.

"Quite for real," he clarified. "With a legally issued marriage license…"

"It better be," she hummed, pressing her lips against his neck again.

"Actual vows… in English… truly pledging our trough to one another in front of a magistrate," he clarified further. Laura shook her head in the negative and tilted back her head to look at him.

"In front of Ioseph," she corrected.

"Laura, Ioseph is a priest," he reminded her. She hummed her acknowledgment, laying her head back upon his shoulder. His feet stopped moving again. He was stupefied. She leaned back to look at him, smiling at the slack jaw, the disbelief on his face. She nudged his jaw upwards with a finger. He stared at her for a short while longer. "You want our marriage to be blessed by the Church?" he asked in a dazed, yet hopeful voice.

"I do," she nodded. "I want there to be no question about our right to be together, about the validity of our marriage. Not by the INS, not by anyone, especially ourselves. I don't want to worry in two years that this is coming to an end. I don't want you to worry. I want us to have no doubt that from here forward nothing and no one will separate us." She brushed a hand over his back then along his shoulder. "I want it all, Mr. Steele. The dress, the priest, the vows, the rite, the sacrament. Is that what you want?"

"I do, Mrs. Steele, every last bit of it." Leaning down he kissed her, leaving absolutely no doubt that it was, indeed what he wanted. When their lips parted, he appeared baffled. "Why do I have an overwhelming compunction to get down on one knee?" he wondered aloud, while looking around at the packed restaurant with a bit of terror at the mere thought of such a display.

"Because you watch too many movies," Laura laughed. "Let's keep this simple." He nodded, relief painting his face. Taking a step back, he lifted her left hand off his shoulder, his fingers settling around her wedding ring to remove it. Instinctively, she pulled her hand back, shaking her head.

"When you put that ring on my finger in Greece, it was for life," she insisted. He was quite certain his heart skipped several beats at her words, he was so moved. With a solemn nod of understanding and a brush of lips against her forehead, he took her hand in his again and slid the engagement ring onto her finger above her wedding band. Taking her back in his arms again, they resumed dancing.

"Are we really doing this? Did you really say yes?" He asked, dipping his head down near her ear.

"It appears we are," she confirmed, stroking her hand up and down his back. "There's just one problem." He groaned his discontent next to her ear before leaning back to look at her.

"Of course there is." Laura smiled and patted his shoulder, comfortingly.

"Can a wedding even be arranged that fast? We'll only have two days before we have to leave for London," she reminded him. The frown lifted from his face.

"I'll call Elena this evening. By the time we arrive tomorrow morning, plans will be underway and she'll have the next two days planned for us in a way that even Mildred would be unable to accomplish," he grinned.

Her hand slid off his shoulder and down his chest. "Maybe we should head back to the casino, if we want to get home at a fairly decent hour to make that call," she suggested with some reluctance. He raised a brow at her.

"Just to make a call?" he asked, leading her from the dance floor with a hand at her back.

"Of course not," she grinned at him. "I'm going to need plenty of time for the little game I have planned for you."

"Being a bit cocky there, aren't you Mrs. Steele?" he teased. Reaching for his hand and tangling her fingers with his, she corrected him.

"Confident, Mr. Steele, confident." His appreciative laugh followed them from the restaurant.

* * *

Felicia slid back into the room where the gentleman she'd been speaking to in the casino was waiting for her. She found Anthony Roselli making himself at home on her bed, lounged back against the headboard, arms crossed behind his head, a beer sitting on the nightstand.

He'd surprised her in the casino that afternoon. She'd been observing the room trying to identify a suitable mark when Michael had arrived with little Lisa. Given the last she'd heard, from Shannon of course, was that Michael was currently playing Lord of the manor at some castle he'd inherited in Ireland, she'd been more than a bit set off balance to find him here in Cannes. Her eyes skimmed down Michael's body hungrily. _He only continues to get more desirable with age,_ she thought to herself. _I wonder if that wonderful stamina has remained, or even improved with age as well._ Not for the first time in recent weeks, she wondered if Shannon's tale that Michael had entered into a marriage of convenience with the drab little American was true. If so, then whatever he'd believed when last they met in London had clearly not come to pass. She raised a brow at a delicious thought. _Confirm he married the little milksop quite for real, and I line my pockets handsomely. Discover he and little Lisa are through, and an absolutely delicious night lay ahead._

She'd been just about to make her move, when Roselli slid into the seat next to her at her table. She eyes the main with disdain, after quickly assessing him: Off the rack clothes of poor quality, mussed hair, body too thick for her taste, and clearly far too confident that all women found him desirous, based on the way he looked at her.

"Can I help you?" Felicia asked, her voice like ice. Leaning back in his chair, he stretched his legs before him crossing them at the ankles.

"It seems we may share a mutual interest…" he began, only to be interrupted.

"I find that highly unlikely," she said dismissively, preparing to stand and leave. He reacted quickly, more quickly than she suspected he was capable of, grasping her wrist and yanking her back down into her seat. Stunned, Felicia could only stare at him. "I'd thank you to take your hands off of me." Ignoring her, he nodded towards Remington and Laura.

"I've been watching you long enough to know that you have more than a passing interest in the man, while I have an ongoing interest in the woman. Maybe if we work together, we can both get what we want," he suggested, keep firm hold of her wrist. Felicia glanced at Remington again at length, felt the familiar stirring that his presence always invoked, then slowly lowered herself into her chair.

"What do you have in mind?" she asked, raising a brow. Roselli smirked.

"First, how do you know him?" he asked with a curiosity that Felicia was unwilling to fully sate.

"We've had a few… satisfying… encounters in the past," she offered. This clearly caught Roselli's interest.

"Since he's been with Laura?" he asked, releasing Felicia's wrist and pushing himself up in his chair to lean towards her.

"We've spent time in one another's company while he's been with Lisa, yes," she prevaricated. "Although, I daresay this penchant of his of following little Lisa around like a puppy is quite beneath him. A man with his… gifts… shouldn't be tied to her or her humdrum little world. And your interest in Lisa would be?" Roselli gave her a smug look.

"We're… involved." This time it was Felicia's curiosity that was aroused.

"Little Lisa… having a fling?" She laughed with mirth. "Here I thought she was a cold fish. Why she would choose to drive a jalopy when she has a Lamborghini at her finger tips eludes me though. No offense meant, of course." Roselli's mouth tightened at her assessment of him. _A whore lusting after a married man, and she dares to speak down to me?_ He forcefully shook the thought off and recognizing she may have her uses, pasted a smile on his face. "What do you have in mind?" Felicia asked.

"Laura doesn't take it well when she see's other women usurping on her so-called husband. You go heat her up, I'll close the deal, and you'll have him in your bed before the night's out. I guarantee it."

Felicia sat back and considered Roselli's suggestion. No matter what angle she approached it from, it was a win-win situation. On impulse, she removed her room key from her purse and slid it over to Roselli

"I would suggest you disappear for a bit, in that case. Mi… Remington is rather possessive of the little mouse. If he sees you here before I work my charms, we'll both be going to bed alone tonight."

Roselli had nodded and left the room. Of course, she'd returned to the room with a clear understanding that Michael was fully off the market, his little Lisa finally implanting her claws firmly into him. Yet, there was little to despair over, as a fantastic lover may have been lost, but there was a delicious shopping spree in Paris to look forward to. Now, all she needed to do was rid herself of this Roselli character, find the proper mark to foot the bill to Paris and all would be golden. Seeing Roselli lounging across her bed, making himself quite at home, however, was quite off-putting.

"How'd it go?" Roselli inquired. With a lift of her brow, Felicia walked over to her bed and swept his shoed feet off of it. Roselli's temper flared at the woman's gall, but faked a laugh while sitting up.

"It would appear you're not as involved with Lisa as you claimed. She made it quite clear her husband is off limits… permanently… and he seemed quite inclined to agree with her," Felicia summarized. Roselli glowered at her.

"Are you calling me a liar?" he demanded to know. She cast a bemused look at him.

"Well, if the shoe fits…" she trailed off.

"You have no idea what you're talking about, lady. Laura and I have been getting it on since Mexico, right in front of that pussy husband of hers. And do you want to know what he did? Absolutely nothing! Just stood there and watched as I crammed my tongue down his precious wife's throat!" be bragged vociferously.

"There's no need to be so crass. I dare say, however, that whatever you imagine went on between you and Lisa wasn't quite what you seem to believe. The only thing I received from him was a hard set down, while Lisa let me know in unequivocal terms that they were quite married and planning to stay that way." Felicia lifted a hand and examined her nails with a satisfied smile. "It all worked out well in the end, for myself at least. I won a little wager in the process which will be quite enjoyable to spend. While it seems you can't say quite the same, I can't be bothered to care. Now, if you'll see yourself out."

Felicia's head exploded with pain and she saw stars, shortly before landing on the carpet. Pushing herself up on an arm, she held a hand over her eye where Roselli had struck her. She looked up at him stunned.

"You bitch!" he roared, "No two-bit piece of trash speaks to me like that. I should have known better than send a whore in to do a man's job in the first place!" Stooping down he grabbed Felicia hard by the chin. "Now if you know what's good for you, you'll keep your mouth shut about our little arrangement, or I'll shut it for you permanently. Capice?" Felicia was only able to nod her head. "Good. I'll see myself out," he said striding to the door. "A little suggestion? Get out of Cannes before I decide I can't risk leaving you around to talk."

Felicia watched as the door closed behind him. Pushing herself to the feet, she stumbled to the bathroom to assess her injuries. Her eye was already swelling and blackening. Remembering the crazed look in the man's eyes, had her quickly packing up. He didn't need to tell _her_ twice to get the hell out of town. Her last thought as she closed the door to her room, suitcase in hand, sunglasses on despite the hour, was _Michael, what has little Lisa gotten you tangled up in this time?_

* * *

Remington stood with his arm around the Laura's waist, waiting patiently as she decided on which game to base their little bet. Her eyes wandered longingly to the poker table. She was a fair hand at the game and certainly knew all her Mr. Steele's tells, but with his penchant for marking cards with ease, she didn't want to take a chance on that being the game decider. She dismissed baccarat out of hand, never having played it before. That left roulette, black jack and craps, in her estimation. She quickly took roulette off the table, as there was little skill and a whole lot of luck involved, not to mention not a single rush of adrenaline to speak of, at least as far as she could see. Of the two games remaining, the choice seemed obvious.

"Craps," she told him with an impish grin. "The person with the longest winning streak is the victor."

"Seems to me, I come out the victor either way," he noted, stroking his fingers down her arm. "If I hold the longest streak, I get to determine the game. Should you hold the longest streak, I benefit from that enticing rush of adrenaline."

"Just remember that when I have you begging in a few hours," she laughed.

"Mmmmm," he hummed, "I'll do just that." Holding out his hand towards the table he suggested, "Shall we get this little wager of ours underway then?"

Despite the early evening hour, the craps table was packed. Assessing it would be at least thirty minutes before they were able to play, Remington decided to play a little game of his own: How to drive Laura to the edge of desire, while appearing to the general public to be doing nothing risqué at all. A pulse point at the wrist suckled upon. Fingers feathering down a spine, or stroking a sensitive waist. Warm breath against an ear as he whispered quiet remarks in her ear. "I love the way your nipples harden, simply when you think of my touch." He watched as Laura's breath grew shallow and she shivered even as she crossed her arms in front of her to hide her reaction. "I love how your legs wrap around my thighs in the moment before you climax. It serves a man's heart well to know he's bringing his wife tremendous pleasure." He watched as her eyes closed, her teeth found a lip as the memories washed through her. "I wish I were buried in your warmth right now, feeling your muscles contracting around me, bringing me more fulfillment than I ever imagined I'd know." Her hands clenched the outside of his thighs, as his arm wrapped around her waist, holding her on her feet as he felt the jolt of pure bliss mere words had invoked in her body.

Tilting her head back against his shoulder, she demanded in a breathy whisper, "Rem, you have to stop."

"I can't think of a single reason why I'd want to do that," he chuckled, even as a single finger traced the length of a shoulder then arm.

"Because if you don't, I'm going to do this," she warned, before whispering in a sultry voice next to his ear, "I love how you thicken in the seconds before you explode within me, filling me with your warmth, leaving you breathless and shaking in my arms." Remington groaned softly as he hardened instantly at the memories her words inspired. To emphasize her intent, she surreptitiously brushed her bottom against him. His hands gripped her arms while he laughed low in his throat.

"You've made your case admirably, love," he conceded. She giggled with mirth.

"I thought I might have. Don't worry, I have every intention taking the situation firmly in hand later, delving deep into the matter and driving the point home," she promised, shifting against him. He felt all his blood rush south at her words, and he moaned quietly again, while grabbing almost desperately at her hips, holding them still.

"Laura…." he growled a low warning, drawing another laugh from her.

"You seem to forget sometimes, Mr. Steele, that I've learned at the feet of the master," she teased.

"I think, in this case, the student may have surpassed the teacher, Mrs. Steele." She straightened slightly at the words, and he lamented his choice of words immediately, knowing she'd only taken them as a challenge. His knees nearly buckled in relief when their turn at the table arrived. Taking dice in hand, Remington handed them off to Laura.

"After you," he told her, handing her a stack of chips. She flashed him a cocky little look and stepped to the table.

"Be prepared to pay up, Remington," she taunted.

He stood back watching with pride as she played. A full nine minutes later, her adrenaline was pumping, her eyes lit bright and her skin flushed, her streak came to an end. He knew, without a doubt, that regardless of the winner of their little bet, an electrifying night stood before them. Taking the dice in hand, he closed his eyes removing any thought from mind except that of the game and began to play. During his years on the street he'd run and even played any number of dice games when he was desperate for a few quid in his pocket that would allow him to put food on his stomach, find a safe, warm place to kip at night. Over those years he'd become known as an arm – a person that could control the outcome of the roll by simple nuances in how the dice were thrown. Still, he played with caution, only allowing so much to stand at one time, stacking the remainder of the chips to the side from time-to-time. Fourteen minutes in, he watched as his wife shifted impatiently from foot-to-foot.

"Now you're just showing off," she griped playfully, having watched her chances at being named the victor pass in the rearview mirror long before. He flashed her a grin.

"Merely attempting to eliminate the benchmark you set in Vegas. I do know how you loving nothing more than a challenge," he told her with a wag of a brow. Without looking he, tossed the dice again.

"Nine, point pays," the stick master called. Sliding aside another stack of chips, he glanced at his watch. _Thirty more seconds will do._

He hadn't counted on his wife. At his glance towards his watch, she'd decided that it was one thing to lose the wager they had on the evening, but quite another to be thoroughly outdone. In the moment that his hand shook the dice, prepared to release them, she stepped forward and whispered next to his ear, "I want you _now_." The dice flew across the table, skittering to a stop, when her lips found his and she kissed him hard and deep. Mindless of the result of the throw, he turned into her, a hand finding the back of her head, tangling in her hair and pressing her lips tighter against his own. He barely heard when it was announced he'd crapped out, nor did he care. At the moment, the only thing on his mind was the taste of his wife, and her delicious little mouth pressed tight against his own. Ending the kiss, Laura stepped back and gave him a smug smile, even as her eyes were dazed by burgeoning need.

"Proud of yourself, eh?" Her answering smirk had him tossing his head back in laughter. "I may not have exceeded your record, love, but I do still control tonight's games, may I remind you."

"That's alright. Somehow I suspect I'll still come out the winner in that as well," she answered, running her hand down his arm as he collected his remaining chips. "Speaking of which…"

"You've read my mind," he answered, twining her fingers with his, and pulling her through the crowd. "Let's get out of here…" Laura laughed at his eagerness, unable to deny she was equally as anxious to get home where they could be alone. Hearing her laugh, he stopped suddenly and gathered her in his arms, mindless of the people around them. He kissed her soft, yet deep, not stopping until he heard the soft hum of pleasure in her throat. Releasing her, he took her hand in his again, and they continued towards the cashier.

"What was that for?" she asked.

"Just a reminder of how happy you make me, Mrs. –"

"Steele! Laura! What are the two of you doing here?" a voice called out. Remington's back stiffened while Laura froze mid-step. Plastering a smile on his face, he turned around, spinning Laura with him…whose mouth was agape, still trying to digest this turn of events.

"Antony, old mate, what a surprise," Remington said with false cheer, holding out a hand. The two men shook hands, smiling, although the look in Remington's eyes was close to deadly.

"Small world," Tony grinned, leaning to give Laura a kiss on her cheek in greeting, only to catch air when she moved quickly out of his reach.

"Tony," Laura said simply in a polite, and shocked, greeting.

"Remarkably so," Remington returned. "Las Haddas, LA, London… seems you just 'pop up.' A more paranoid man might think you were following someone."

"Purely coincidental, buddy… at least this time," Tony shot back, his smile attempting to cover the bite of his words.

Laura laid her hand on Remington's arm, catching his attention. Leaning up next to his ear, she asked him quietly, "Would you mind giving us a minute?" He glanced down at her and seeing the glint of anger in her eyes accompanied by steely eyed determination, nodded his head slightly.

"I'll go get us cashed out while you and Antony catch up," he told her, then leaned down to brush his lips across her cheek before heading to the cashier's window. Laura spun around on a heel, facing Tony.

"Tony, what are you doing here?" she asked, irritation peppering the words.

"I told you, coincidence. After my stint in jail, I decided to take a little time to relax. Cannes is infamous for its great beaches and outstanding gambling," he replied, flashing his dimples, trying to charm her. Laura resisted the urge to roll her eyes, but was thoroughly uninterested in whatever dance he seemed to have in mind.

"Cut the crap! Are you following us?" Roselli saw red at her crass words and demand, but using concerted effort managed to control his temper. He intentionally softened his facial features, trying to convey a look a tenderness.

"I told you I wasn't giving up on you, Laura," he reminded her, then ran the back of his fingers down her upper arm.

Remington glanced over from the bank cage, just in time to see Tony touching Laura, then grinned as he watched Laura sling his hand away.

"Don't," she bit out. "This needs to stop, Tony. I'm on my honeymoon for God's sake."

"Your marriage isn't real Laura," he reminded her. Her eyes narrowed on him at his words.

"It is according to the law. Even more importantly, it is to us. That's all that matters."

"He's using you, Laura, to get a green card. You don't mean anything to him," he said reaching out to touch her again, only to find his hand slapped away.

"That's not true," she disagreed adamantly.

"It is true. He's a loser Laura, a piece of garbage, not worth your time! He's no better than a pimp, whoring you out for a green card…" The words slipped out of his mouth of their own accord, but he stood by them.

Furious, Laura reared back a hand and slapped Tony across the face, so hard his head snapped to the side. Remington turned at the sound, eyes darkening, and started walking towards them, then stopped, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels.

"Don't you ever, _ever_ talk about Remington like that!" His words had sent her into a fury that the wiser of people knew it was best to walk away from. "Who the hell do you think you are, Tony? You waltz into our lives lying to me from the start, and you dare talk to me like that about him?! Let me remind you, if not for him you'd be rotting in jail right now."

"Laura, whatever he has on you, we can figure it out together." Picking up her hand, he looked at her rings. "We can get you out of this." Laura yanked her hand free of his.

"Whatever he has on me? I told you in Ireland, Tony. He and I have been together for four years. Four years! We've fought, and scratched and battled to find our way to each other. Were we hurt and angry with one another when you met us? Yes, we were! Did we find our way through it all? Yes, we always do." Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and forced herself to calm down, knowing she had to make sure he didn't dismiss her words to anger. Her voice softened. "Tony, he's all I want, all I've _ever_ wanted. We've built a life together that means more to me than anything else in this world. I'm not going anywhere. Do you understand?"

"I understand that he's somehow convinced you that he cares about you. But he doesn't, you _know_ that. You're just confused right now." He told her insistently, before his voice took on a beseeching tone. "You told me yourself that there's something between us. Every time we kissed, it was there. You made it clear on the train, that you chose me over him. You know it."

Laura shook her head sadly. "I didn't choose you over him on that train, Tony. I chose to help someone I thought was in trouble. You took advantage of that, kissing me like you did. Was I any better, knowing my husband was standing right there, watching as I… wounded him?" She shook her head again, as the guilt she'd had hoped had been lessening swamped her again. "No, I wasn't. And I don't know if I'll ever truly be able to forgive myself for doing that to him. But, as for the rest of it. I want you to think carefully before you answer: When have I ever initiated a kiss or anything else when not right in front of Mr. Steele?"

"Maybe you didn't, but you definitely responded, made it clear that you want me as much as I want you." Laura held up her hands, then dropped them.

"Did I? I shoved you off of me in the bedroom I shared with my husband. I didn't respond when you manhandled me in the window of our room. When you kissed me in the streets, I pulled away." She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, as she considered her next words. "Tony, you need to really think about this. Where did I sleep at night? By myself, or in our room with my husband? When we were in London, did I have a separate room, or were he and I booked into the honeymoon suite… together? Who did I go back to, every single night, without exception. That alone should have told you I wasn't free, available."

"It told me that even though you want to be with me, whatever he has on you has you afraid. You don't have to be afraid though, that's what I'm trying to tell you. We can figure it out together. He's only using you, nothing more. Come away with me," he cajoled, holding out his hand. "We're meant to be together."

Laura's temper flared red hot again. Taking a moment, she closed her eyes and battled it back down, then tried to reason with Roselli.

"If we're honest, Tony, you and I? We've both been playing games. From the day that we met you've been lying to me, using me to get to him. I've been using you to hurt him. But _every, single time_ that he has needed me, I have been by his side – in Mexico when he was accused of killing Keyes; in London at the train station; and in Ireland when he lost Daniel. Shouldn't _that_ have told you something?"

His own temper flared at her words. In his fury, he temporarily lost the ability to maintain his guise of the wounded and sincere suitor.

"Yeah, it tells me I should have planned a little better in London, then we wouldn't even be having this conversation," Tony responded snidely, then tried to rescind his statement as he saw the truth dawn in Laura's eyes. "Look, I didn't mean that," he told her, trying to regain control of his anger. "Laura, I really didn't." He reached out as though to hug her and she shoved him away from herself, hard, triggering his fury once more.

"You sent him out to that train station to have him killed that night. Why? What had he ever done to you?" she demanded to know. Tony laughed, his eyes wild then pointed at her, dropping his guise in its entirety.

"You're a smart woman, Laura, you figure it out," he chortled, laying the blame fully at her feet without remorse. Her heart began to race, as the full scope of what she'd put into action settled around her. The color drained from her face as she realized she could have lost Remington for good, because of her own actions at, that. Tony smiled at her, seeing she'd put it all together.

Remington saw the moment Laura's face lost all color, saw the slight tremor in her hand and decided he'd had enough. Important to her, or not, to settle the matter once and for all on her own, he'd not stand by and watch her distress. Pulling his hands from his pockets, he began to slowly walk their way.

"I don't let anything or anyone get in the way of what I want, Laura," Tony told her, taking a menacing step forward. "In this case, I want you." Holding up a hand between them, she took several steps back.

"You need help, Tony. Stay away from me, stay away from us." Laura told him softly but firmly, then dismissing him, turned on her heel to walk away. She cried out when Tony's fingers dug into her upper arm, yanking her around, his face a mask of fury when she faced him. He sank the fingers of his other hand into a second arm, purposefully digging in, bruising her. Hearing her cry out in injury, seeing Roselli's hands on Laura, Remington broke into a run, weaving his way through the crowd, towards her.

"You're not walking away from me, Laura!" Roselli warned her, his teeth bared, eyes narrowed.

"Let go of me, Tony!" She tried to yank her arms out from his grip, making him dig his fingers in even deeper. She groaned against the pain. "You're hurting me!"

"I'm not letting you go, Laura. He won't have you too. I promise you, I'll see him dead before…" he calmly threatened.

Roselli's words broke off as he found himself slammed up against the casino's wall, a hand around his throat.

"Listen up, mate," Remington's furious voice making the word mate sound like a threat, "if you ever, _**ever**_ put your hands on my wife again, I'll have to kill you. Am I making myself clear…mate?"

Roselli threw up his hands in mock surrender, and Remington shoved him into the wall again for good measure before letting him go.

"I'm sorry. I got a little carried away," Roselli told Remington, trying to appear contrite.

"I would suggest you carry yourself away from here," Remington warned, breathing heavily, seething.

Roselli turned towards Laura. "Laura, remember what I said," he told her, reaching out and touching her arm, all the while smiling. Laura backed away from him, grabbing Remington's hand, gripping it hard.

"Stay away from us Tony, or so help me God, I'll make sure you spend the rest of your life rotting in a jail cell," Laura promised him. Roselli watched Laura for several seconds, then nodded his head and walked away.

Remington turned to Laura, rubbing her upper arms still marked red where Tony's fingers had dug into her. "Are you okay?" he asked tenderly. When she didn't answer, he took her face gently in his hands, lifting it so he could study her face. The guilt, the fear he saw in the amber eyes he adored made his heart ache. Pulling her into his arms, he nuzzled his cheek against the side of her head.

"I'm fine," Laura whispered against his chest, the hands clutching almost desperately at his waist and back belying her words. "Can we go home now?" she asked, her bereft tone making his heart stumble. Bussing her on the top of her head, and soothing his hands down the length of her hair, he nodded.

"Let's," he agreed, trying to keep his tone light. After quickly cashing out, the couple left the casino. They drove home in silence, the only sign that all was not fine in the world found in how Laura's fingers wrapped around his, and clenched as though she was holding on for dear life. That she kept her head averted, looking out the window the entirety of the trip home, had turned his concern into out-and-out alarm. He'd seen Laura weaken under adversity only twice before in all their years together: When Veckmer blew up her house, and when DesCoines had promised to see them dead within the hour and seemed intent on doing just that. But normally, she stood strong in the face of an opponent, allowing no one and nothing to take her to her knees.

Midway through the trip home, he attempted to reach out to her.

"Laura…" he began only to be cut off by words barely above a whisper.

"I'm fine," she answered, saying nothing further. That is until several minutes later when he heard her whisper to herself, "What have I done?" The fear and guilt woven through those quiet words making him feel as though he'd been suckered punched, they'd knocked the wind so completely out of him.

 _He'll pay for doing this to you, Laura, I swear to you he will,_ he vowed to himself.

* * *

 _Author's note: Okay, okay, NO ONE despises the introduction of the character Anthony Roselli into the series as much as I. However, if you follow canon, I do believe that someone - not the twits who wrote the last six episodes - had a very clear trajectory on how certain things were going to unfold down the line. Be patient, it will be several stories down the line, but trust me when I say, canon leads us there and takes us down a surprising path. And never fear, there will certainly be no more insane, convoluted, misguided, stomach rolling flirtations between Roselli and Laura again. Can you hang in there?_


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 8: Comfort and Love

When they returned home, Laura urged Remington to make the call to Elena and Marcos as they'd discussed earlier in the evening. She stood by the veranda doors, arms crossed around her body, staring out at the water in silence. The minute he hung up the phone and moved to stand behind her, she turned into his arms. Running both hands up his chest and over his shoulders, she wound her arms around his neck while pressing up on her tiptoes to touch her lips to his. His arms automatically wrapped around her waist, a hand skimming up her back. Lowering herself back down to the balls of her feet, she skimmed her fingers through his hair, while staring at him, as though memorizing every nuance of his face. He stood silent knowing she'd speak when ready, trying to mask his growing alarm at the deep pain he saw in the lovely amber eyes he adored.

"Rem…" she finally spoke "… can we forgo the games tonight? I need to be… close… to you" her hand stroked along the side of his face, then jaw "… I need to… show you." His hands reached for her face, thumbs stroking her cheeks.

"Ah, Laura, you never have to ask. Come here, love." The last words were whispered as fingers laced around the back of her neck, drawing her near. His lips danced across hers in a gentle caress as he leaned down to lift her into his arms. Her hand drifted into his hair, placing soft pressure on the back of his head, unwilling to lose contact with him for the short trip to their room.

Hands smoothed clothing from bodies slowly. A pair of silken stockings was lowered in small increments so that each bare patch of skin could be caressed by feathery kisses. Fingers trailed across a hard stomach, a cherished chest, broad shoulders, each touch seeking to convey emotion, connection. A pair of lips worshipped each dollop of color spattered across shoulders and chest, accompanied by wispy glances of eloquent fingers along a jaw, a cheek, the column of a neck, through tendrils of hair. Quiet endearments flowed freely, a man determined to see injured eyes light with love and a woman determined to show the depth of her love for a man in the way he best understood.

Afterwards she lay atop his body, length-to-length, wrapped tightly in an arm as a hand stroked her back, her fingers meandering lazily through his dampened hair. Her lips pressed idly against a salty neck from time-to-time, until his ministrations lulled her to sleep. It was not until he was certain she was deeply asleep that he shifted slightly under her, tucking her against his side and holding her close, that he was able to fall asleep as well.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 9: Turning the Tables

Laura slept in fits and starts, dozing more than sleeping, in all actuality. Finally giving up on the idea of a sound sleep, she slid out of bed, drawing the sheet up over Remington before fishing through his clothing to pull on one of his shirts. She slipped from the room, needing both time and space to gather her thoughts and headed to the beach where she could find both. Unbeknownst to her, a pair of blue eyes followed her from the room, before the man they belonged to rolled to his back, slinging an arm over his face. He knew she needed time alone with her thoughts, and was intent on giving it to her, confident that he would know when the time was right to go to her.

* * *

She roamed along the waterline, occasionally dipping her feet in the water, at first simply enjoying the tranquility of the temperate night, the stars above, and the sound of the water gently lapping at the shore. When she finally gave her agile mind permission to delve into the matter at hand, the first thing she was met with was guilt – tremendous guilt. She'd thought she's found her peace with what she'd done, the day Remington and she had discussed Roselli by the lake at Ashford Castle. But that was before she'd realized the magnitude of Roselli's obsession with her and what the cost of that obsession could have been.

 _If Tony had had his way, we would've never had this. There would have been no Ireland, no Greece or here. There would have only been questions and regrets that would have haunted me the rest of my life._

A world without her husband in it was beyond her comprehension at this point. For years, she'd started each day looking forward to seeing him, whether it was to flirt or fight. His presence in her day-to-day life made it richer, more enjoyable, no matter how complicated it was at times. She'd not lied to him that day on the beach at Friedlich Spa.

* * *

" _ **Were you really better off before you met me?"**_

" _ **No. Life was easier though. Less interesting. But easier."**_

* * *

But in the last year things had changed. The wider she opened the door to him, the more his presence had become weaved into her life tapestry. And now? Now she wondered if she lost him how she could possibly withstand the lack of his presence in all the moments of her life. How could she look to a future when he was already the center of nearly all of her dreams?

And if that loss came at the hands of Anthony Roselli, she didn't know how she'd be able to live with herself knowing that her own actions had cost she and Remington everything; that it was not someone from his mysterious past that ripped him from her life as she'd always feared, but instead at the hands of someone she'd brought into their lives.

This was different than DesCoines. While DesCoines had threatened their lives, he was a case come back to haunt them. Neither of them had opened the door and invited him in. In this case, she'd opened the door to Roselli and had damned well invited him in.

The only question that remained was how to show him the door, then secure it behind him – with every lock, chain and latch she could acquire.

She had no doubt that he was insane. Not after tonight. Not after he'd bragged about attempting to arrange Remington's demise that night at Paddington Station. Not after he'd promised to see Remington dead if her husband remained an obstacle. How many signs had she missed along the way? Remington had seen Roselli's true colors from the outset. Had she not learned after all these years that he had in indefinable ability to see through people's masks to their true selves within seconds of meeting them? It was part of what had made them so successful, his ability to read people, to understand what motivated them. She'd dismissed his concerns out-of-hand, for no other reason than he'd denied his own jealousy of Roselli.

She searched her mind now and came up blank, except for the obvious. His sudden arrival in LA should have aroused her suspicions, but she'd been too intent on making Remington pay for Shannon's appearance that she'd overlooked Roselli's implausible excuse. After all, if he'd accepted a position as resident archaeologist in UCLA, why would he not have mentioned that before they all parted company in Mexico? His appearance in London, and Remington's sudden willingness to help the man. How could she not have known, then, that something foul was afoot. Remington would no more have willingly invited the man she'd used to provoke him to join them on their business/honeymoon trip than he would have Westfield, Beamis, or Wilson. Roselli's sudden appearance on the train to Ireland. The incessant phone calls the night of Daniel's funeral.

Then, of course, there was the fact he had no compunctions against making a play for a married woman on her honeymoon.

She shook her head in disgust with herself. He'd stroked her vanity, and she'd looked past every clue because of it.

She looked up, surprised to find she'd made her way back to the house. Striding up the stairs, she perched herself on the low slung stucco wall of the veranda. Pulling her knees up under her chin, she wrapped her arms around her legs, her thoughts turning to the man sleeping inside the house behind her.

She'd fought his hold on her heart for years. Now with a very real threat to his life settling around them, she mourned all the time they'd lost, while he'd grown into the person she needed him to be, and while she learned to accept that she couldn't un-fall in love with him, so the only choice was to embrace her feelings fully. To finally lay claim to him, to them.

She'd broken her promise to herself to never fall in love again, to never give another person the power to hurt her, break her. It had a taken a long time to accept that she'd been helpless to prevent it. What made things infinitely worse, now, was that she had no idea that she could love anyone as much as she did him. It was shocking enough that she'd only just realized she was not consumed by him, as she'd always feared she would be, but consumed _with_ him. He'd made certain of that, constantly reminding her in that way of his that she was her own person – strong, intelligent, resourceful. In truth, it had only made her love him more.

He was the love of her life, she had absolutely no doubt that was the truth. He was the man she wanted to spend her life with, at both work and home. To grow old with. To one day have a family with. Her lips lifted in a soft smile at the thought of Remington with a child.

 _He'll be wonderful. Pouring into our child all the love he'd never had when he was growing up. Making certain that our child knows just how important their presence in our lives is._

That she could even picture him holding their child in his arms should terrify her, she recognized. But instead, the thought only brought… joy.

Roselli wouldn't take that from them, she vowed to herself. Neither their present nor their future. The key lay in figuring out how to stop him. She sighed deeply. _How do you stop a man with the ties he seems to have to furtive, government operations?_ she asked herself. There were no answers forthcoming.

A smile lifted her lips when a pair of arms reached around her. She sank back against Remington where he had straddled the wall behind her, settling into his embrace.

"Have it all figured out yet?" he asked. She shook her head.

"No, not all of it, or even most of it. Only the most important thing."

"Dare I ask what that would be?" She nodded slowly.

"He can't have it. This. You. Us. I won't let him," she answered, determination woven in her words.

" _We_ ," he corrected. " _We_ won't let him." She pressed herself more firmly against him, nearly toppling them both off of the wall. Hands grabbed at the wall, and laughter erupted. Once they found their balance again, Remington crooked his head towards the veranda. "Perhaps a lounge would more appropriate for this conversation," he suggested with a grin.

"Mmm-hmmm," Laura agreed. Crossing the terrace, she waited until he settled in then positioned herself to recline back against him.

"So, what brilliant ideas have you come up with then?" She shook her head.

"Not a one. Roselli might be slippier than even DesCoines. He has ties to a furtive governmental agency, and we don't know exactly what those ties are. MI5 is not associated with the United States, yet even so, he appears to work with them in some capacity. I think we both know that he used their contacts or resources to find us. His showing up here was no coincidence."

"I agree," he answered simply.

"I think he's insane, Remington. Delusional even. The things he said to me tonight, the look in his eyes," she shuddered. "Definitely obsessed. He's DesCoines with resources that we can't even begin to identify." She felt him nodding his agreement behind her. "But you knew that from the beginning, didn't you? Only I wouldn't listen, couldn't see it." His arms tightened a little more firmly around her before he answered.

"I'd no idea that he was mad, only that I didn't trust him from the start," he corrected slightly. Removing her hand from under his, she scrubbed her fingers at her left brow.

"I encouraged him, teased him, used him. Trying to make you jealous…" she let out a little puff of air "… trying to assuage my own injured vanity. I didn't see, didn't want to see…" He sighed behind her, unwilling to watch as she flagellated herself.

"You knew by London, you simply didn't want to admit it to yourself," he corrected lightly. She sighed, scrubbing more briskly at her brow.

"Only because Mildred had filled me in by then that he wasn't an archaeologist, as he'd claimed. Even so, I was less angry about the fact that he lied than I was that it was clear he was using me to get to you," she lamented.

* * *

" _ **I could kill you. You haven't been following me. You've been following him!"**_

" _ **You used me. You only got close to me to get to him!"**_

* * *

"It doesn't matter when you figured it out, Laura, only that you know who and what he is now. He's not yet had a chance to do us any real harm," he reminded her. Her fingers rubbed even more vigorously at her brow, if that was possible. Taking her hand in his, he pulled it away from her brow and laced his fingers through hers before returning both of their hands to her waist.

"It does matter," she insisted vehemently, trying to push herself from lounge, to find herself held firm. Letting out a deep breath, she sank back against him. She squeezed her eyes shut against the words she was about to speak. "He tried to have you killed – because of me! It does matter!"

"Mmmm," he hummed his acknowledgment. "But he didn't succeed. We're here, together. Seems little point in you blaming yourself for something that never came to pass, doesn't it?' She stilled against him.

"You knew?! You knew and went anyway? You knew and didn't tell me?!" she demanded, her voice rising in combined disbelief and anger.

"Would it have done any good?" he asked on a mirthless laugh. "I'd already told you I didn't trust the man and you brushed my concerns aside. If I'd have come to you and told you he intended me dead before the end of that evening, would you've believed me?" She sighed deeply and closed her eyes.

"Do you honestly believe that no matter how much your antics with Roselli had angered me, that I wouldn't have been there to watch your back?" This time, it was he that scrubbed at his face with his hand.

"No," he relented. "It mattered little anyway. Telling you wasn't an option."

"Why not?" she wanted to know now. Remington swiped a hand hard through his hair, but remained silent. "Remington," she said his name firmly, "What does Roselli have on you?" When his silence lingered, she demanded, "Tell me." He let out a frustrated puff of air.

"You. He held you against me." Laura stiffened against him, but willed herself to keep her voice calm.

"You'll have to explain that to me," she prodded.

"He not only has ties to MI5, he has ties to the INS as well. He was there in Mexico to prove our marriage a fraud, in LA to do the same. You, unwittingly, and Shannon, quite purposefully, gave him all the proof he needed." He sighed deeply when he finished, swiping his hand across his face again.

"He's INS," Laura repeated numbly. Disentangling herself from his arms, she pushed herself up off the lounge and began to pace. "How long have you known?"

"Since shortly after we arrived in London," he answered, swinging his legs over the side of the lounge, propping his elbows on his knees. "He had me picked up outside the Red House pub when I was looking for leads on the Lindstrom case. The case was a setup from the start, meant to lure us to London, nothing more." He gesticulated helplessly, only able to watch as she processed the information. After pacing several more second she turned to look at him.

"What proof did Shannon provide him?"

"After her 'doctor' tried to… take you out of the picture… I told her the truth, hoping she'd not be willing to risk sending me to prison to get whatever it was she was after. A risk, granted, but I couldn't very well allow you to be killed, now could I?" He laughed mirthlessly. When Laura stood looking at him expectantly, he scrubbed at his face again before dropping his hands is acceptance. "A statement. She gave him a statement confirming that the blood tests, the marriage license were fabricated. A little digging on his part, he was able to substantiate her claims."

"He blackmailed you," she stated succinctly. He nodded, while swiping at his mouth again.

"Either I helped him or the implications were clear: myself in prison then deported, you would lose the agency for your part in it… The field would be clear, as it were, for him to pursue you." Standing, he began to pace as well. "Ah, Laura, what was I to do? I agreed to deliver the documents to Paddington Station, with the understanding Shannon's statement would be given to me and that he would stay away from you."

"Well, we know he didn't honor the second part of the agreement, did he at least the first?" He shrugged.

"He gave me her statement on the train. Do I believe he retained copies? I do." She paced across the terrace, thinking, then with a flick of a wrist and a shake of her head, dismissed the paperwork as a concern.

"It doesn't matter. We'll be legitimately married in two days. The INS won't be able to overlook _that_."

"And what of the other? Gladys Lynch was there, could support easily any claim Roselli made that we were clearly less than happy newlyweds." She knew he had no idea what the words would do to her when he spoke them, but nevertheless, they found their mark. She lay a hand against her stomach at the sudden ache there, as that familiar guilt swarmed. A thought occurred to her then, one that left her mouth hanging open in horror. "Lynch. She would have known. Oh God," she moaned, nearly desolate. Her fingers pinched at the bridge of her nose as she looked up towards the night sky. "I kissed someone working for the INS in front of the investigator trying to prove our marriage a fraud." Seeing the look on her face, he reached out a hand towards her, trying to comfort.

"You didn't know that when…" She shook her head vehemently.

"Don't," she said sternly, releasing her nose and holding a hand up to him. "Don't try to justify what I did. I knew the risk, I just didn't know the full extent of that risk." She shook her head, pacing several more steps as she did. "Damn it! For years I've been pointing out that your ruses, your gambits always backfire on you. When will I learn that my own have a habit of doing exactly the same thing?" Remington scratched at his chin, an idea coming to him.

" _Footsteps in the Fog,_ Stewart Granger, Jean Simmons, Shepperton Studios, 1955," he offered thoughtfully. Laura looked at him askance.

"Alright, I'll bite. What does it have to do Roselli and the INS?" she asked, skeptically.

"A man murders his wife. When the household maid discovers his secret she blackmails him. The man ultimately turns the table on her, using her own evidence against her, and she is subsequently arrested and convicted of the crime," he answered, eyes bright with excitement. Laura tapped at her lip, considering his suggestion.

"So you're saying, we use Roselli's own game against him. But how?"

"By convincing the INS that Roselli recruited us while in Mexico to clear him of espionage charges. In order to do so, we had to convince Lynch that our marriage was a farce and we went on the lam to prevent our prosecution. However, in reality, we were joining Roselli in England where we would clear his name while appearing to be reluctant participants." She felt a trill of excitement run through her blood, only to come to a crashing halt.

"And when Roselli denies all of this, then what?" she queried. He flashed her a smug smile.

"Simple enough. Roselli developed an unwelcome tendre for my lovely wife," he answered, stepping to her and bussing her against the neck, "easily attested to by Mildred, the staff at Ashford, not to mention a scene in a local casino I'm quite certain they've captured on security video. Before we leave tomorrow, we'll make it a point to secure that tape," he answered quietly, yet triumphantly. Hope flashed in Laura's eyes as she turned towards him.

"Do you really think it'll work?" she asked, a smile lighting her face.

"I do. Newspapers across Europe have bandied about our part in clearing Roselli, capturing Finch. To attempt to reveal otherwise, the INS would be risking the media receiving, anonymously of course, a copy of a tape in which one of their agents is shown assaulting a certain young woman."

"Blackmail," she breathed. He hummed his agreement.

"It seems to be the name of the game if it comes to that, which I don't believe it will." Brushing back his hair off his forehead, Laura beamed up at him.

"I like how your mind works, Mr. Steele." His smile widened.

"Fair praise, indeed, coming from you, Mrs. Steele." He leaned down and touched his lips against hers, before she frowned and left his arms again to pace some more.

"That covers the INS, but what about Roselli himself? He made himself very clear tonight: he's not going to let me go and if that means…" she stumbled over the thought "… eliminating you… he will." Remington closed his eyes and nodded.

"I suspected as much," he admitted. There were few things he could think of that would have set Laura as far off kilter as her conversation with Roselli had done. Looking at him speculatively, she wondered how he'd react to the idea that had come to her on their drive home.

"I have a suggestion, but I don't think you're going to like it," she told him with trepidation, fully expecting him to be furious when she spelled out her plan.

"Oh?" he asked raising a brow, seeing her reluctance. Coupled with her words, he was fairly certain he wouldn't like whatever she had in mind.

"I think we need to bring Murphy in on this." She held up a hand when she saw he was immediately ready to disagree. "Just hear me out. Please." He nodded tersely at her, but held his silence. "We won't be home for another five days. That gives Roselli five days to use his resources against us, while we are sitting here stagnant, getting no further ahead. We can't very well turn this over to Mildred. You know her: if she believes we're in danger, she'll panic. Murphy has the resources at his fingertips and could start digging the minute he gets the call." He walked over to the veranda wall and leaned against it, rubbing his face.

"Ah, Laura," he began, his voice belying how disturbing he found the idea, "Murphy's believed from the start that I was only using you, would only do you harm in the end. Now what? We're supposed to tell him you were forced to marry me and that I've led you right into the den of a madman?" He shook his head, looking away from her. Walking across the terrace to him, she stood between his legs and threaded her fingers through his hair, shaking her head as she spoke.

"The why of our marriage, at least the first one, is no one's business but our own," she assured him. "And if I recall correctly, you didn't lead me anywhere. I dove in head first, despite your warnings." He looked up at her with doubtful blue eyes. "I won't tell him anymore than he needs to know, I promise. But I think we need help on this one and outside of yourself and Mildred, I trust no one more than Bernice and Murphy."

"I won't have you telling him of any involvement you _believe_ you have in this," he warned. "It was my problem with the INS, my decisions after they appeared, that landed us where we are. Either we agree to that or we find another way." She smiled down at him, fingers stroking through his hair again.

"On one condition. What time is our flight?"

"Three." She nodded.

"We watch the sunrise together. Then, you head back to the casino and retrieve the video tape, while I call Murphy and pack," she stepped closer to him, tracing her fingers across his bare shoulders, down his chest, before leaning in and kissing him. "Then when you get back…" another kiss "…we get in a little more honeymooning…" and another "…. Then some sleep." Standing, he gathered her in his arms, settling his lips over hers then with a soft touch of his tongue against her lips, took the kiss to another level when she opened to him. When they parted, breathless, he ran the back of his fingers along the side of her face.

"Or perhaps we sleep on the plane…" he remarked suggestively. She pressed her lips against his neck.

"Maybe we do," she agreed, taking his hand, leading him to the hammock. They spooned together there waiting for the sun to appear.

Laura lifted her left hand, staring at her engagement ring. "Another family heirloom?"

"Mmmmm, not at all," he answered, reaching up to brush his fingers over her ring. "I had Mildred send it over to me once she arrived home." She stilled, puzzled.

"Send over?" He hummed his confirmation. "That implies you already had it." Another hum and otherwise silence. "Where did it come from? Do I even want to know?" He laughed quietly, knowing where her mind had wandered.

"I designed it, had it commissioned from some of the stones I received as partial payment for retrieval of the Marchesa Collection."

"You had it made?" Yet another hum was her only answer. "When?" He sighed.

"After the Shane case," he reluctantly supplied. She let it go then. After all, it didn't take a mathematician to figure out he'd had the ring made long before the arrival of the INS. Her already overloaded mind didn't wish to ponder the significance of _that_ at the moment.

"Why a ruby?" she asked.

"Because it was the memory of you, fire in your eyes, looking absolutely stunning in a red gown which showed those freckles in all their glory, that made me realize there was something far more precious than the Royal Lavulite standing right in front of me," he answered quietly. She closed her eyes a shimmer passed through her body at his words.

She shifted on the hammock to face him, laying her fingers against his jaw. "On second thought, have you ever made love on a beach at sunrise, Mr. Steele?" His fingers threaded through her hair. Palming the back of her head, he drew her lips near.

"Can't say that I have, Mrs. Steele, but I suspect I'm about to," he murmured in the moments before his lips brushed over hers. Breaking the kiss, Laura slid out of the hammock and held her hand out to him.

"Yes, I believe you are," she agreed, pulling the blanket off the end of the hammock and leading him towards the beach below.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 10: Security

It was shortly before 6:30 a.m. Cannes time when Remington departed for the casino in hopes of retrieving a security tape of the confrontation between Laura and Roselli. The front door had no sooner closed than Laura picked up the phone and dialed Denver, hoping that Murphy would forgive a call at nearly 10:30 p.m. his time. To her surprise, the phone on the other side was picked up on the first ring.

"Michaels," Murphy said by way of greeting. Laura grinned. As much as it irritated Murphy when Remington answered the phone with "Steele, here," her friend had never realized he answered the phone much the same.

"I hope I didn't wake you," she said into the phone.

"Hey, Pal," Murphy Michael's greeted her, "Dodger's game," he said, as though that explained him being wide awake at the late hours, which it did. "What's it been, about two months since we last talked?"

"Hey, Murph," Laura greeted him fondly. "A little over three I'd say. I don't think we've spoken since Bernice's wedding."

"You might be right. So what's been going on? Anything exciting?"

The question gave Laura pause. Murphy had never been Remington's biggest fan, making her hesitant to share the news. She shrugged her shoulders and decided to go for broke.

"Just run of the mill stuff," she answered in a voice meant to sound as though recent events were nothing short of blasé, "A murder here, a corrupt cop there, Remington and I finding out we'd been murdered while we were in New York at Bernice's wedding, getting married, inheriting a castle, being stalked by a psychopath... You know, the usual."

Murphy laughed on the other side of the line.

"Just run of the mill stuff, I see. What do you mean the two of you found out you were murdered while…" Murphy stopped mid-sentence, suddenly processing the latter part of her sentence. "Whoa, hold up. Laura, did you say you got married?"

"I did… we did."

"Are you serious?" Murphy asked, clearly astounded. "I've got to hand it to him. I could see wedding bells chiming in that head of his at Bernice's wedding, but I never thought he'd get up the guts to actually ask."

Laura quirked a half-smile at Murphy's obvious shock, when she heard him groan loudly on the other end of the line, she giggled.

"I know the news is shocking but I'm sure I rate at least an insincere congratulations as opposed to a moan that sounds as though I've caused you physical pain," she teased. He groaned again.

"You _have_ caused me pain. Sher bet me at the wedding that the two of you would be married within six months. I just lost…" he trailed off with a grimace, drawing Laura's laughter again.

"Oh, and what was the wager?" Murphy shook his head in dismay on the other end of the line.

"Loser has to get the twins ready, by themselves, every day for three months," he groaned anew, while Laura's laughter grew only louder in return. "Couldn't you have at least held out for another few months, pal?"

"Apparently not," was her perky little reply. Murphy let lose a string of curses. Laura frowned at the phone.

"I didn't expect congratulations, Murph, but…" He laughed, interrupting her.

"Holton just gave up a dinger, again. We're down two now," he explained. "Are you happy, Laura?" She nodded although he clearly couldn't see her.

"I am, very much so."

"Then congratulations. But do me a favor and pass a message on to Steele for me."

"What's that?"

"Tell him that if he hurts you, I'm coming to LA to kick his ass and I won't let you stand in my way this time," he told her, only half-joking.

"Given we're in Cannes at the moment and will be in Greece tonight, I don't have to worry about keeping the two of you in line then, do I?" Laura teased.

"Cannes? What are you doing there? And what's in Greece?" he asked, clearly surprised.

"We're over here on our honeymoon, heading back to Greece in order to spend time with his family before returning to London for the reading of his father's will."

"His father? I'm confused. Last I knew he had no idea who his father was."

"He didn't. Daniel admitted to being his father right before he died."

"Daniel… Daniel Chalmers? Tell me you're kidding, Laura."

"I wish I was."

"How did Steele take the news? I mean this guy's been part of his life for, what, like 20 years and doesn't tell Steele he's his father?"

"It's been hard on him. Especially given Daniel died the same day he confessed."

"My God. I wouldn't wish that on anyone. Wait. Didn't you say you inherited a castle? Tell me Chalmers didn't actually own a castle."

"Yes, Remington inherited a castle. No, it wasn't Daniel's. The Earl of Claridge actually bequeathed him the castle." This brought on a whole new round of groans from Murphy.

"Please, Laura, at least tell me this doesn't mean he has some fancy title like Duke."

"That's Lord and Lady Steele to you, Michaels," she teased, then laughed again at another groan.

"Okay, pal. This is a lot to process and I am sure this phone call is costing you your first born. You can catch me up on all of this when you get home. So give. Why are you calling me from Cannes, while on your honeymoon?"

Laura smiled. She should have known Murphy would know she had an alternative reason for calling and wasn't just ringing him up to say hi.

"We need your help, Murph."

Back at home in his living room, Murphy dropped his feet off the coffee table where they'd been propped and sat up straight, his PI antennae humming at the sudden strain he heard in Laura's voice.

"Anything for you, Laura, you know that," he told her, trying to keep his voice light. "What's up?"

"I need you to do a full background check on someone. We can't do it from here, and Mildred? I don't want to panic her without us there to focus her."

"What's going on, Laura?" he asked, his concern apparent now in his voice. Her hand lifted to rub her brow.

"We'll explain it all when we get home. It's… complicated…Murph."

"I swear to you, Laura, if he's put you in danger, I'll strangle him with my bare hands." Laura sighed heavily into the phone.

"He didn't, Murphy. _I did_. Please, I promise I'll fill you in when we get home."

Murphy heard the strain, the guilt in Laura's voice and from where he sat in Denver could picture her working her left brow as they spoke. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to calm down and focus. Opening the drawer of the end table, he grabbed out pen and pad.

"Okay. Give me the name and anything you know about him."

"Roselli. R-o-s-e-l-l-i. First name Anthony. I have no idea if he has a middle name or what it is. Approximately 35 years old. American. Has claimed to be a minor league baseball player, an archaeologist, and seems to have connections to both the INS and the MI5."

"Physical description?"

Laura pictured Roselli in her mind.

"Approximately 6'1" tall, around 200 pounds maybe? Medium complexion, blue eyes, and curly, light brown hair. Oh, and he has a cleft in his chin."

"Anything else that you can think of?" She scoured her mind.

"Yeah, as a matter of fact. He had a girlfriend, Concetta... no, Conchita, when we were in Las Haddas, Mexico. You might be able to get some information from her if you find her. He was supposedly working as an archaeologist down there, but we've already confirmed that was nothing but a lie."

"Got it. I'll get right on this. Give me a couple of days to gather as much as I can," he told her. He paused, then when he began to speak again concern etched his voice. "How bad is this, Laura?"

"Right now? Stalking, blackmail, attempted murder, battery, for starters."

"Of who? You or Steele?"

"Blackmail and attempted murder of him; battery and stalking of me. He has followed us from Mexico, to LA, London, Ireland and yesterday he showed up in Cannes," Laura sighed, then dropped her hand from her brow. "Murph, I'm scared."

Alarm bells began sounding in Murphy's brain. Never, in all the years he had known her, had Laura ever admitted being scared before.

"I'm on it, Laura. By the time I'm done we'll know the name of anyone who ever changed his diapers. When will you be back in LA?"

"We should be flying home Saturday, after London."

"Okay, expect a call from me Sunday. And Laura?"

"Yeah, Murph?"

"Don't let down your guard. I don't like the sound of this."

"I won't. Murph?"

"Yeah?"

"I really appreciate this."

"You know I'd do anything for you, Laura," Murphy told her sincerely.

"Say hi to Sherry and kiss the boys for me."

"Will do." Disconnecting the phone, she stood and went into the bedroom to begin the promised packing. Absently, she picked up piece of kiwi from the plate next to the bed and popped it into her mouth, then laughed lightly. Even after making love on the beach, Remington had insisted on getting a "proper meal" into her before he left for the casino. In short order he'd whipped up some scrambled eggs infused with fresh vegetables and a selection of cheeses, wheat toast with strawberry jam, and a healthy garnish of fresh fruit. He'd tucked into his plate, quickly polishing off the meal, then grabbed a quick shower before getting on the road, while she'd lingered over her own, savoring both the creation and the man that had made it, her eyes following him from bedroom, to bathroom and back again.

While she enjoyed every bit of the pure masculinity on display, it hadn't missed her attention that he appeared to be bordering on the edge of exhaustion. Certainly, the minimal sleep they'd gotten the night prior had contributed to it, as they'd walked their way through how to handle Roselli. Watching him dress, as she sat cross-legged on the bed draped in his pajama top again, her plate of food on her lap, she unconsciously smacked her lips as she admired a brief clad pair of sexy buns before her, then carefully blanked her face as he turned to look at her. She innocently picked up a piece of pineapple and took a bite out of it. With a shrug, he returned to dressing, though his curiosity had been more than a bit aroused.

Laura lips spread in a self-satisfied smirk, that she'd not been caught, flat out, with her hand in the cookie jar, so to speak, before returning to her ruminations over his current state. _I imagine I hold a fair share of the responsibility for that. Can you blame a girl?_ She snorted quietly, remembering when years before when she'd shared with Frances a secret fantasy.

* * *

" _ **I too have dreams. Warm, sensuous dreams. I walk into a dark room, and a deep bath of chocolate awaits me. I lower myself into it. I'm covered in chocolate. And I discover what the pursuit of happiness means."**_

* * *

 _Little did I know that making love with him would be like swimming in a sea of chocolate: he's all rich tastes, heady scents, and decadent sensations._ Her tongue flicked out and touched a lip, as she laughed quietly to herself. Glancing back over to the closet for another peek at him, she found him leaning with a shoulder against the wall, grinning like the proverbial cat that ate the canary. _Damn, caught red-handed, after all._

"Dare I ask what's on your mind, Mrs. Steele?" he asked, bemused. Laura lifted sultry brown eyes to him even as she flashed him a cocky little smile. _If you think I'm going to give you the upper hand and admit it, you've got another thing coming,_ she thought to herself.

"Chocolate," she dead-panned. His expression flattened for a second, caught off-guard by her answer, then he laughed deeply.

"Of course you were," he grinned, slipping into his jacket as he walked across the room towards her. He tipped up her chin with a single finger, then leaned down brushing his lips against hers before settling in for one of those tender kisses that made her toes curl. "Don't think about… chocolate… too much while I'm gone," he teased. Then with another quick kiss, prepared to leave. "Be back soon."

Despite his good-humor, she hadn't missed the weariness that showed itself around his eyes, in the way he held his shoulders. Now, as she folded up the last of their clothes, zipping up the suitcase afterwards, she ruminated on the matter. He had always required more sleep than she did, and by her estimation he'd gotten less sleep then her, likely by half, during the three days they'd been in Cannes. He'd made it a point to lull her to sleep with gentle strokes of his hands during the early morning hours when their bodies could sustain their desire no longer, and by the time she woke, he'd already have breakfast prepped and ready to cook. With a small frown, she wondered how he was even keeping on his feet at this point.

And in recognizing that, she made a unilateral decision that would bring their plans for his homecoming to a screeching halt. The only question that remained was how to implement what she had in mind.

* * *

Remington wiped a hand across bloodshot eyes, forcing them wide open. The lack of sleep hadn't bothered him on the way to the Casino. Indeed, he'd been at the top of his game when, with a discrete exchange of a small sum of cash, he'd finagled a copy of the video tape out of a security guard. It was not until the return drive to the villa that his weariness caught up to him. After several nights of making love with his lovely wife until shortly before dawn, only to pry himself out of bed to see to it she had breakfast waiting for her when she rose, the drive home along the coast proved to have as sedative an effect on him as Laura's small hands brushing rhythmically up and down his side. If that same lovely wife were not at the villa, right now, waiting for his return so they could pick up where they'd left off on the beach, he'd crawl under the covers for a full forty winks. But knowing that she was? Well, his body was already telling his brain that sleep would have to wait until their flight to Greece.

By the time he turned the car down the driveway at the villa, he'd watched the thought of sleep disappear in the rearview mirror sometime before. Unfolding his long legs from the small sports car, he walked down the front walk with a bit of pep in his step at the thought of what the rest of the morning would bring. Opening the door, he called out for her. When only silence greeted him, he grinned, suspecting she'd decided to sneak in a nap before he returned. His smile only widened when he thought of waking her in a most delicious manner.

Entering their bedroom, he stilled in the doorway. The room was cloaked in darkness, drapes drawn and blankets strung in front of those to prevent any seepage of light into the room. Two pillar candles, lit on a bedside table provided the only light in the room and soft jazz wafted through the room. Laura had turned the air conditioning down, and the room was cool and crisp. It was the first time he could ever recall that she'd taken the initiative to set the scene for romance. His heart did a funny little flip-flop in his chest, he was so touched by her actions. The woman responsible for all of this, however, was conspicuously absent.

"Laura?" he called out for her, as he walked through the bedroom towards the bathroom.

"Strip down to your shorts and stretch out," she called from in the bathroom. "I'll be right there. I have a little something planned." A brow raised and a smile lifted his lips at her words. Without hesitation he stripped down and stretched out on his back on the bed. His eyes followed her as she entered the room, robed only in one of his shirts, and crossed it to close the bedroom door. He gave her a curious look even as she approached the bed, to stand next to it. She stroked her fingertips along his cheek.

"Turn over onto your stomach, sweetheart," she directed him. Remington's brain turned to mush at the endearment. It was only the second time Laura had ever referred to him in such a manner and knowing she had let down her walls far enough with him even to do so did remarkable things to a heart that had so often wondered if she'd ever allow him completely in. His own defenses down, both due to emotion and exhaustion, he told her as much.

"Ah, Laura, when you call me that… I can't even explain what it does to me." Laura climbed onto the bed, then straddled his body, perching herself of his bottom. She smiled, then ran her fingers through his hair, before settling in and massaging his scalp. He let out a soft rumble of approval. "That feels splendid, love." She smiled, and leaning over pressed her lips to the base of his neck.

"I imagine it makes you feel the same as I do when you call me 'love'… or 'babe' when we're making love." Her breath tickled his ear where she spoke next to it, before sitting back up. "Tell me about the casino."

"Easier than I even expected actually. A little incentive and I had the tape in hand in a matter of minutes." He tried to suppress a yawn and failed. "The guard assured me it clearly shows what happened with Roselli." Her hands slid out of his hair to move across his shoulders. He moaned lightly when her fingers found a particularly tight spot. She settled in to work it out. "And Murphy?"

"He's on it. He'll call us Sunday morning and fill us in on what he finds." He nodded and shifted slightly beneath her, finding better purchase on the bed and his pillow, his eyes closing. She smiled and smoothed her fingers down his shoulders over his back, settling into a rhythm meant to relax, to lull. "You never told me how your conversation went with Elena last night," she reminded him. He hummed beneath her.

"How do you feel about gettin' married on the terrace, overlookin' the Aegean, at sunset night after next?" His words were spoken with some effort, the Irish accent he'd intentionally left behind long ago tracing throughout the words. Both what he said, and the inflection in his voice drew a sigh from her. Pressing another kiss against the base of his neck, she slid her hand under his shoulders pressing her to him in a hug. This time, it was he who sighed.

"It think it's a perfect idea, and a perfect setting," she answered, pushing herself back up and resuming the rhythmic stroking. "And Ioseph?" He nodded his head in answer, even as he yawned again.

"Elena will make certain 'e officiates." He breathed in deeply and let it out. "Love, if you keep this up, we won't be resumin' any honeymoonin' for a while," he murmured sluggishly.

"That's the plan, Rem. You need sleep," she answered him quietly. It took a moment to register, but when it did, his heart clenched in his chest. _Laura Holt… no, Laura Steele, is taking care of me, as I try to do for her when she allows._ The thought overwhelmed, and he stumbled, his sleep fogged, emotionally saturated brain unable to find the words. Instead, a hand found hers.

"Ah, Laura, come here," he urged, turning onto his side, as she slid off him and into his waiting arms. Pressing her to him, her face nestled to his chest, he slid a leg between hers, even as her hand slid over his waist to his back to continue the rhythmic stroking. He inhaled her scent deeply, a shimmer passing through his body as he did. She felt it under her hand, against her body. "What 'ave I done to deserve you, eh?"

"You kept loving me, no matter what," she answered quietly, pressing a kiss now against his throat.

"That I did, love, and it won't be changin'," he mumbled as he drifted off. Snuggling into him, she reached down and pulled the sheet up over them, then allowed herself to simply enjoy his scent, the feel of his long lean body against her small frame.

Long minutes later, she realized what had kept her returning to him across the years, even as she would try to push him away. _He keeps me safe. My body. My heart._ Then admitted the truth of the words she'd spoken aloud. _He keeps loving me, in spite of myself._ Nuzzling her face against him, she slid her hand down and held it against his chest, feeling the steady thrumming of his heart beneath her fingers. Her last thought before she fell asleep left her smiling.

 _So much better than chocolate…_


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 11: Family

For the nearly five years, Laura and Remington had been traveling together, and over time rituals, of a sort, had developed. For instance, when they flew, they both preferred to sit on the right side of the plane, although neither could explain why and he always sat in the window seat, she next to the aisle, a compromise that had arisen over time due, almost, to necessity. She often worked a crossword puzzle in the early part of the flight, while he'd thumb through magazines. When he sat in the aisle and she by the window, their dominant hands would often collide – her left into his right or vice versa. Thus, a seating tradition had been established.

Of course, they never missed an opportunity to uphold their longest standing tradition, one which Remington had established on their very first flight together: the champagne toast at the start of their flight. This day was no exception. While he'd meant to keep the toast simple, it had bent towards the flowery side. "To our upcoming nuptials. May they be truly worthy of all it has taken for us to get here, at long last." Twining their arms, after a short sip, their lips met and lingered.

Since she'd brought him home from London, a new tradition had emerged: on long trips, particularly transcontinental, the arm rest separating them would be lifted and they'd recline together, napping away a good portion of the flight in order to diminish the effects of any jet lag. While this flight would be only two hours from lift off to landing, they'd decided, wordlessly, that the trip offered them the opportunity to continue catching up on some much needed sleep – for him, even more so than her. Of course, neither of them bemoaned the continual contact that accompanied their naps. More than one stewardess gazed at them googly eyed, the young couple making such a contented picture as they did.

Laura woke as the plane began its early descent, then turned to ease Remington from sleep as well. By the time they'd disembarked the plane, gathered luggage, and taken the ferry back to Santorini, they'd both felt nearly fully restored. As was the case on their first trip, Mikos met them at the docks and drove them back to the Androkus home, where they'd never considered staying anywhere but. It was to be a quiet night, with only immediate family over for dinner. Even, that, however, meant the house swarmed with people. Between Elena and Marcos; Melina; Zeth and Calista, with their five children; Christos and Helena, with their additional five; Ioseph invited along so he could make better acquaintance of the bride to be; and, of course, Mikos who had driven them to the house, dinner would be a 'staid' affair of twenty. Thankfully, the tepid night allowed dining on the veranda, where the brood could all fit comfortably.

"So, Xenos," Christos needled Remington good naturedly, while casting a mischievous glance Ioseph's way, "What daring deeds have you been part of since last you were here? What priceless pieces of art, irresistible gems, have been rehomed thanks to your efforts?" Ioseph leaned back in his chair paying rapt attention to the conversation.

"Not a one, though I won't deny having followed the Royal Lavulite to Los Angeles with every intention of recovering them for a healthy finder's fee.

"Afraid to admit to your nefarious deeds with Ioseph here then, are you?" Christos laughed.

"Not at all," Remington denied, picking up Laura's hand in his and brushing his lips across her knuckles. "Truth be told, my lovely wife was quite insistent that I trod the straight and narrow if I wished to stay in her good graces." Next to him, Laura snorted softly, drawing Christos's attention.

"Ah, Xen, it seems that very wife sees things quite differently," Christos all but chortled.

"Not really," Laura disagreed lightly. "I would simply qualify that statement by saying that the straight and narrow has, at times… been a bit on the curvy side." Remington looked at her askance. She returned his look, while patting his hand. "Well, it's the truth," she defended her stance with a smile. "You know perfectly well that you've… skirted the law… here and there."

"Now, Laura, that business with the Hapsburg Dagger can hardly be held against me in this regard. I only did it to keep a friend safe, and if you recall, it was returned to where it came from when all was said and done," he protested. By now, all the adults were watching the conversation with amusement.

"Still not quite the straight and narrow though, is it?" she laughed. " _The Five Nudes of Cairo_?"

"I was blackmailed into that, as you well know, and the painting never even left the building," he retorted, squirming a bit now as he saw Ioseph's eyes leveled upon him. _My own bloody wife is going to have me saying Hail Marys and Our Fathers straight up until our tenth anniversary at this rate. Well, what's sauce for the gander..._ "Besides that, I seem to recall a certain young lady beside me during that heist don't I?"

"Our first," she smiled, remembering.

"Mmmm, indeed it was," he agreed, brushing his fingers across her hand.

"Your first?" Melina inquired, her head propped in her hands as she watched the exchange in fascination.

"Mmmm," Remington acknowledged. "We lifted three masters – twice as a matter of fact – only to wind up empty handed."

"But we did save Molly Donovan's life in the process," Laura pointed out.

"We did, at that. Of course, I can't help but recall the rather intoxicating side-effects of that little venture," he told her with a wag of his brows, grinning when he watched as a flush spread across her skin. She laughed lightly.

"These… exploits, are a frequent part of your work, then?" Ioseph asked, casually – too casually in Remington's opinion. Based on the fact that every adult at the table was now eying the interplay with either smug satisfaction – Christos – or wincing as they understood the game afoot, he was certain that his opinion was dead on target.

"Not at all," Laura answered, blithely unaware of the undercurrents, "although they do happen on occasion. Sometimes, in our line of work, it's necessary to bend the rules to serve the greater good or even to save our lives."

"How is that?" Ioseph again asked with far too much nonchalance. Remington lay his hand over Laura's and gave it a slight squeeze.

"Laura," he warned in an undertone, drawing her name out. She ignored him with a pat on the hand as she sought to educate Joseph.

"Lying to a suspect to obtain the truth; marking a deck of cards in order to recover something in a high stakes game; borrowing a boat or car to escape someone that is after us; breaking into a home or office in order to collect proof of someone's guilt. While lying, cheating and stealing are, generally speaking, wrong, when they help us get a criminal off the streets, they serve the greater good in the end. Don't you agree?" Ioseph steepled his fingers together and leveled a thoughtful look at her. Beside her, Remington squirmed in empathy, as Laura still had no clue the hounds of hell she'd unleashed on herself.

"I wasn't aware that there were exceptions to the Commandments," he answered, with what appeared to be a casual shrug. Remington watched as Laura's eyes widened, before she turned to him for confirmation.

"I tried to warn you," he almost sing-songed under his breath, glee that it was not he under Ioseph's fire for a change almost outweighing empathy for his wife. She leaned into him.

"It's a family dinner!" she whispered against his ear.

"And one of Ioseph's favorite times to catch family members off guard so that he can provide some rather harsh penance," he confided in a whisper of his own.

"He can't assign me penance, this isn't a confessional!" she whispered back, almost desperately.

"Oh, he will, believe me, he will," he laughed quietly. "He's managed to get his hooks into me every time I've visited, without fail."

"It's not funny!" she insisted in a harsh whisper. Giving him a frown she looked from him, to Ioseph, then with not a tiny bit of frustration, turned and found every eye at the table on her. She met Marcos's eyes. Throwing back his head, he laughed heartily.

"Ioseph, it's enough. You've had your fun for the evening. You'll have plenty of time to extract your pound of flesh tomorrow afternoon. This evening is about family, so no more," Marcos instructed. Ioseph assented with a small smile and a sharp nod of his head.

"You should have warned her, Xen," Christos laughed from across the table, earning him a glare from Remington.

" _Yes_ , he _should_ have," Laura agreed, leveling Remington with a small glare of her own.

"I did warn you, at least tried to," he reminded her in protest. "And you, little brother, set her up quite nicely yourself, if I might point that out."

"He did?" Laura asked her eyes shifting from Remington to Christos.

"Mmmm," Remington hummed in answer. "No doubt he'd hoped I be foolish enough to get caught in the snare, but if not, you'd suffice."

"You did?" she asked, her eyes narrowing on Christos, who now had the decency to do some squirming of his own. Zeth laughed where he was seated further down the table.

"Ah, Laura, do not take too much offense," Zeth advised, "In doing so Christos has, in his own _unique way_ ," the last two words said with a bit of sarcasm, "welcomed you to the family. He takes great pride in serving all of us to Ioseph. It is a favored game of his." Calista, Helena and Melina nodded in agreement.

"And you never turn the table on him?" Laura asked aloud, wondering silently how to do exactly that. Remington turned in his seat, brushing a kiss against Laura's neck.

"Watch for it," he whispered, next to her ear, then settled in to savor what was sure to come.

"Of course we do, he just never seems to learn his lesson," Zeth nodded, then seemingly dismissed the entire matter before turning to his brother, leaning casually back in his chair and putting his arm around Calista as he did so. "So Chris, Mikos tells me you shot a particularly good score last Saturday on the greens." Christos straightened in his chair and stared at his older brother.

"Zeth," he intoned in a half plea, half threat, only to have his brother's name painfully cut off by the elbow delivered into his side by Helena seated next to him.

"Golf? You told me you had to put in some extra time on the ship this weekend, to oversee some repairs," she accused.

"It's true I had asked him to do just that, but he bowed out needing to stay home, he said, to help with Daph," Marcos chimed in, looking at his son who shifted uncomfortably under his father's gaze. Helena turned in her chair to address Mikos.

"Is it true? He was playing golf with you on Saturday?" she asked. Mikos hid in his plate of food, seemingly quite hungry all of a sudden. "Mikos…" she warned. With a sigh, he put down his fork.

"It is. And before you ask, Sunday I was in Church, so certainly not on the links with him. That was Alex," he offered, shrugging off Christos's sputtering outrage. "Sorry, cousin, I'm not willing to end up with a handful of penance by lying for you."

Christos looked around the table with quiet desperation, looking for anyone that would help him out of the quagmire as Ioseph was visibly counting up the various commandments broken. When his eyes fell on Elena, he blanched.

"Mama, I…" he began, then sputtered off under the look of disappointment from her. Every family member well knew that Elena expected attendance at Church on Sundays, the only exception allowed being that of illness. She'd believed he was home with the sick baby until Zeth had tossed him to the wolves.

"We will discuss it later," Elena told him calmly, "As you will with Ioseph next Tuesday." Christos moaned aloud now, knowing his mother had just commanded him to head to the confessional. Cocky as he might be, to this day he would not directly disobey either of his parents. Zeth and Remington both broke loose with loud guffaws, while Laura grinned in Zeth's direction.

"Apparently you do turn the tables on him," she said with an approving little smirk. Zeth nodded and gave her a smile in return.

"As I said, he never learns," he confirmed. Laura gave Remington an amused look.

"Seems to run in the family," she remarked drolly. When she opened her mouth to provide examples, Remington leaned in and kissed her soundly, a fair amount of desperation guiding him.

"Now, Laura, if you toss me into that fire, as you're considering doing, keep in mind I may well be saying penance until deep into the marriage ceremony night after next," he reminded her in a whisper next to her ear. She laughed aloud.

"Well, we can't have that, now can we?"

"I sincerely hope not," he answered, his relief apparent, earning another laugh from her.

"So Mama, tell us about the wedding plans," Melina requested.

"I'm a bit curious myself," Remington admitted, smiling as Laura brushed her hand over the back of his hand. Turning it over, he laced his fingers with hers.

"Tomorrow morning, Laura, Melina, Calista, Helena and I will head to the modiste for our dresses while the men are at work. Over lunch, Laura and I will decide on flowers, decorations and music. At three, Laura and Xenos will meet with Ioseph, before Xenos meets Marcos, Zeth, Mikos and Christos at the tailor for their fitting. Rehearsal at six, followed by dinner at seven. The following day Xenos and Laura will secure their marriage certificate at ten, final fittings at noon, preparations until five when we will dress. Ceremony at seven, followed by a night of celebration," Elena finished with a satisfied nod.

"How many in attendance, Mama?" Melina queried.

"Immediate family only. Us, your aunts and uncles as well as their children and their families."

"Small then," Melina said with a trace of disappointment.

"Intimate and elegant, as Xenos requested," Elena corrected. "Now, Melina, if you, Calista and Helena will help clear the table, following desert we'll enjoy a nice, relaxing evening with the family." The three younger women rose without being asked, and began gathering up plates. Laura, giving Remington's hand a firm squeeze rose to help.

"It is not necessary…" Elena began, then quieted at Laura's wide smile.

"I insist," Laura told the woman. Gathering up her plate, and Remington's, she followed the other women into the kitchen, leaving the men to converse and keep an eye out on the children, who were growing restless. Two trips later by Calista and Helena, all plates were cleared, the table wiped down, while dishes were being rinsed and loaded into the dishwasher in the kitchen by Laura and Melina. Elena, in the meantime, sliced and plated fresh tiramisu for dessert for the adults while the children would be served cups of pudding made by Elena earlier in the day. By the time dessert was on the table, the men had corralled the children back into their seats, with the exception of 1 year old Eirene, who was lounging against Christos, and two year old Daphne, who was lying against Remington's shoulder, lazily sucking on two fingers stuck in her mouth as she fought sleep. Laura slid back into her seat next to him.

"Every time I turn around, some woman is throwing themselves in your arms. Should I be worried about my competition?" she teased, to cover the fluttering of her heart that always occurred when she saw the way children simply took to him.

"Far too willing to take comfort in my arms. I prefer a good challenge," he returned, with a quick lift of his brows.

Desert was comparatively sedate compared to dinner, as focus changed to talk of upcoming events planned for the children, news of other family members and business. By the time the leisurely course was complete, the heads of several sleepy children had begun to nod, leading Zeth, Christos and their families to excuse themselves for the evening. Laura and Remington followed suit, shortly thereafter, to get themselves unpacked and settled in. Par for their normal bedtime routine, Remington left the room to shower, while Laura changed into the matching shirt to his bottoms and wandered out to the balcony.

 _Married. Two days from now we will be legally married… in the Church. Married._ She waited for panic to grip her, but instead only found peace. Many questions whirled through her mind about their future but it was those very thoughts that made her realize this was it, this was right. _Our future. Not his and mine any longer but ours. And to think, we owe it all to Norman Keyes._ The mere thought made her laugh aloud, before she shook her head in disbelief.

Keyes had been the bane of their existence since the moment he first crossed their paths. He'd shaken her faith in Remington on more than one occasion: First when the diamonds had been found by Keyes and his men in Remington's refrigerator during the Cranston debacle, and later in Mexico when he'd framed Remington for his murder. On three occasions he'd nearly cost Remington his freedom: first during the Grogan case, then again during Cranston and in Mexico. Then, before the final frame up in Las Haddas, he'd brought the INS into their lives, nearly destroying all that they'd fought against and fought for over the years.

There was a certain irony to be found that in Keyes attempt to destroy them, that he'd instead been the final impetus to bring them here. Yet, it seemed it always took some significant event in their lives, that threatened everything they'd been trying to claim, to push them forward. After their agreement in Cannes, it had taken watching Buckner's men beat Remington right in front of her for them to realize – _well, me realize at least –_ that they couldn't go backwards, and remaining still only made both of them miserable. Remington leaving after he discovered her near affair with Westfield, had made them both realize that they no longer knew how, or even wanted to know how, to be happy without the presence of the other in their life. The INS and their sham of a marriage had only cemented the fact that they were both willing to do whatever it took to not be separated, despite the sometimes harsh lessons that had come as a result of that knowledge. And Daniel's death? His letters combined with Remington's deep grief had abolished any of the walls that remained between them.

 _Daniel, who fought me from the day we met, both of us trying to keep Remington with us and Norman Keyes, the man who had set out to destroy all we have – the Agency, our faith in one another, what we are. One determined to force us apart, binding us together… the other in his final days only wanting us to recognize what we have and to lay claim to it. Who'd have ever believed that it would be the two of them that we had to thank for bringing us to where were are?_

She laughed again, still stunned by the realization.

That is how Remington found her when he arrived on the balcony, without thought moving to her and wrapping his arms around her from behind.

"Care to share, love?" he asked, with a brush of lips against a cheek. She stepped back into him instinctively, then twined her fingers with the hands resting on her stomach.

"It might surprise you," she mused.

"When you put it like that, I have no doubt that it will do anything but," he teased.

"I believe I was thanking Daniel and Keyes for helping us to get here… together." She laughed when he stiffened against her. "I told you it might surprise you," she reminded him still laughing.

"Keyes? Norman Keyes? I swear to you, Laura, there are times I just don't understand how that remarkable mind of yours works." Stepping out of his arms, she turned and took his hand.

"Let's go stretch out," she suggested, leading him back into their room. She waited until he was comfortably reclined against the headboard, before stretching out with her head on his thigh. She held up her hand, considering her engagement ring. "When did you have my ring designed, again?" she queried, knowing perfectly well the answer. He lifted his brow at her, wondering where she was going.

"Right after the Shane case," he confirmed Laura nodded her head.

"That was quite some time ago," she mulled. "What made you to decide to do it? Have the ring made? Then?"

"Don't you know?" he hedged. A smile quirked at her lips. She'd expected as much. Lifting his hand in hers she began tracing the palm with her finger. She concentrated on his hand for a minute or so, before she felt him subtly relaxing under head.

"I have an idea, but I don't know for certain, no." He sighed deeply, while shaking his head.

"The bomb… later in Lydon's office. I couldn't help but think of what you'd said nearly three years before, while we were in the shredding bin at the Federal Reserve."

* * *

" _ **It's always good to take things slow, and not rush things between us. Not get in too deep. But only because we assume we'll both be around when the proper time comes."**_

* * *

"The bomb… Rudy… All this waiting… waiting for the perfect time… the perfect sign… something… the both of us. The proper time was bloody well the one in which we were both still here. That could change at any moment… we both know it… one of us not making it through unscathed." She nodded her head, still concentrating on his hand.

"It seems to be that way with us," she commented casually. Perplexed, his brows drew together as he looked own at her.

"What way?"

"That it takes a crisis of some kind for us to get past ourselves, our fears… to move ahead. And Keyes was certainly that… a crisis." He nodded thoughtfully, picking up a strand of her hair and toying with it.

"That he was," he agreed. "But I still have no earthly idea how you end up expressing gratitude of any kind towards the man after all the harm he's done us." Laura shrugged slightly.

"If he hadn't brought the INS into your life, we wouldn't be here, right now. Would we?"

"We'd have gotten here, eventually at least."

"Would we have become lovers? That was a given. Would we have ended up living together before summer's end? I think so. But this? I don't know. Someday, maybe. But, you have to admit, it's hard to be afraid of getting married, when you already _are_ married," she laughed, his soft chuckle joining hers.

"There is that," he agreed. "But I won't be thanking Keyes for anything. We've still two years ahead of us that we'll spend trying to convince the INS, who _he_ brought into our lives, that what we have is real. Two years of worrying if or when they decide it's not and deport me. No, I'll not be thanking Keyes at all." Looking up at him, seeking the worry etched in his face, she changed her stance on Keyes in that instant and damned the man straight to hell. Sitting up, she turned on the bed, then lay down next to him on her side facing him. She waited until he slid down from where he was reclining and faced her, then threaded her fingers through his hair.

"You're really worried that's going to happen, aren't you?" He reached out and stroked a thumb along her jaw.

"It's a very real possibility, Laura. We both know that." He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "We don't even know if I'm going to make it back into the country when we return." He stared at her, then taking a deep breath, forced himself to ask the question. "Knowing that, are you sure about marrying me? You may find yourself with a husband that's thousands of miles away." Laura eyes widened and she pushed herself up to sit, frowning at him.

"That's _not_ going to happen. I won't let it," she told him adamantly. Propping his head up in a hand, his other reached for hers and he brushed his lips against the back of it.

"As magnificent as you are, even you can't stop the INS from refusing my entrance or barring me from the States if that's what they choose to do." She gave her head a hard shake and looked away from him, needing to collect the thoughts whirling around her head. Letting out a puff of air on another shake of her head, she lay back down next to him and told him the only thing her heart would allow.

"Then if either of those things come to pass, and I don't believe either will, I guess we move to Europe." He stared at her, dumbfounded.

"You'd do that?" he asked, unable to hide the shake in his voice. Her hand reached out for fingers to stroke through his hair.

"Losing you is neither a choice nor an option. I _am_ going to marry you, Rem. And that means where you go, I go," she told him with soft determination. "We'll just start a branch of the Agency over here and use the reputation Remington Steele has already established to build again if it comes to that."

"You mean that?" She nodded firmly.

"I do-" Her words were broken off in a shriek of laughter when he yanked her to him, and rolled to his back, taking her with him. Cupping the back of her head in his hand, he pulled her down to him kissing her with a tenderness that made her body quake. When the kiss ended, his hands clasped either side of her head and he stared at her, his blue eyes bright with emotion. A hand smoothed away the hair from her face.

"Have you any idea how much I love you, Laura?" he asked on a gruff voice, saying a small prayer of thanksgiving that for once the words had not failed him. Her fingers brushed back that unruly lock of hair from his brow, as her amber eyes took in the face of the man that had somehow become the best part of her life. Then she gave him the words he so often said to her.

"Maybe half as much as I do you." His face took on a look of stunned pleasure, even he as he drew her lips back down to his.

"What am I going to do with you?" he asked, as his lips brushed over hers. Settling in his arms on top of him, she looped her arms around his head, her fingers burying themselves in his hair.

"You already know the answer to that," she answered, smiling against his lips.

"That I do, love, that I do," he agreed, before pulling her down for another heartfelt kiss. Laura's lips quirked against him when a hand skimmed over the back of her thigh, sliding under the tail of her shirt to knead a firm cheek of her underwear clad bottom. _Seems someone has forgotten where we are,_ she mused to herself. The thought was confirmed when he rolled them over, then shifted to his side so that lips could explore a neck while the wandering hand shifted to the curve of her waist only to depart and travel upwards. Sure fingers quickly loosened buttons, then brushed aside a shirt to find the flesh underneath. Shifting over top of her, his lips found that place where neck meets shoulder and he suckled lightly. Despite herself, she squirmed underneath of him at the sensation and her hand found his back, fingers brushing lightly up its length. His back arched into her fingers, goosebumps speckling his skin, his rapidly hardening length pressing against that most sensitive of places on her body, drawing a soft gasp from her.

"My God, babe, you know what it does to me when you do that," he murmured, as his lips trailed down her chest. Indeed, she did know, and her hands repeated the action of their own accord, drawing a light moan from him. With great effort she forced her hands away from his back, finding the sides of his face in the instant before his lips found a nipple and pulled gently. Her back arched, and she cried out softly at the contact, helpless to stop her hands from releasing his face and stroking through his hair. With a shake of her head and a shuddering inhale, she forced her hand to return to the sides of his head.

"Rem…" she spoke, then gasped loudly when his tongue flicked against her sensitive peak. "Oh God.." she moaned now in some desperation. "Rem, listen to me," she told him almost frantically, as she squirmed her way out from under him, her breast leaving his mouth with a soft pop. He looked at her, confusion colliding with passion in his bright blue eyes. When she didn't speak further, only staring at him with molten amber eyes, her breath coming quick and hard, he grinned, and catching her around the waist, pushed himself up into a sitting position, pulling her onto his lap so she straddled him. Before she could speak, his mouth had found her neglected breast, while a hand brushed down a bare back so that fingers could dip under the band of a pair of panties. A hand found his hair again, urging him closer, while the fingernails of another scraped softly through the soft hair of a chest, evoking another pleasure filled moan from him.

"Rem…We're quickly reaching the point of no return…" she managed to get out, before biting her lip to keep from crying out in delight when the lithe fingers of a hand found the sensitive peak of her other breast. "Marcos and Elena's," she finally forced past her lips. Mouth and fingers stilled, before a head tilted, breast still within his mouth and blue eyes looked up at her. The second the words fully registered with him, his mouth released her and he fell to his back on the bed with a loud groan of dismay.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, under his breath, raking a hand through his hair, his chest heaving. Laura laughed lightly, but when he lifted nearly desperate blue eyes to hers, her laughter silenced. Leaning over him, she ran a series of nip-kisses along his collarbone, drawing another moan from deep within his throat.

"We could be quiet… very quiet…" she suggested, her lips skimming up a neck so a mouth could suckle on that area beneath his ear that turned his mind to mush. Helplessly, his hips lifted and she felt his erection twitch hard against her. "Oh God…" she squeaked, at the sensation.

"Bloody hell," he growled the oath again, then gripping Laura's hips firmly in his hands, lifted her off his body to sit on the bed next to him. Mimicking his earlier move, she flopped onto her back beside to him, skin flushed, pulse racing, breathing fast and shallow. He turned his head and looked at her, and again muttered the only phrase his mind could assemble at the moment. "Bloody hell."

"I agree," she said drawing out the words in frustration. Remington stared at her. Her shirt still parted, showing her delectable little breasts, nipples still fully aroused, her swollen lips, heaving chest, and languid amber eyes filled with desire.

"Bloody hell," he growled one last time, while pushing himself from the bed. "I'll be back," closing the bedroom door behind him with a resounding thud before he could think to do otherwise. Laura threw her arm over her eyes and fought to calm her raging body while recognizing it was one thing to keep his appealing masculinity at bay for years when only her imagination had been engaged, and quite another to bring a halt to things when she knew not only the heights to which he could take them both, but that his every touch was an affirmation of his love for her. To know that and to end their lovemaking when it had barely begun?

"Damn," she swore softly, then pushed herself to a sitting position. Buttoning his shirt back up, she turned and curled up on her pillow, lamenting the loss of his body on hers, in hers. It was only when Remington returned to the room, hair once again wet, that she found the humor in the situation and began to laugh. The sideways, almost sulking glance he shot her, only made her laugh all the harder. Unable to resist the lyrical sound, he joined in, laughing along with her as he slid into bed next to her, then gathered her close.

"I'd thought those days were at last long behind me," he grumbled, drawing another snicker from the woman in his arms. He glared down at her playfully. "Paybacks, Laura, paybacks," he reminded her on a drawl. Her eyes opened wide at his words.

"I tried to warn you. _You_ weren't paying attention," she protested.

"Ah, but you kept at it when I had stopped," he countered. Pushing herself up an elbow, she stared at him, laughter dancing in her eyes.

"Paybacks, huh?" He pursed his lips and wagged his brows at her.

"Mmmm-hmmmm," he hummed, before breaking out into a smile, missing all together the mischievousness lighting her eyes.

"Well, then I better make sure I've actually done something to earn it," she smirked, before running her hand firmly up his length, making certain to swirl around the outline of his tip with her thumb before her hand departed. He groaned deep in his throat as all his blood ran south and he instantly hardened against her touch.

"Laura," he growled in warning, only garnering another snicker from her as she settled back down in his arms to sleep. He lay beneath her trying to get his raging body back under control until well after she'd fallen asleep. When he'd finally regained control enough to relax, the last thought he had before he fell asleep was: _She's going to be the death of me._


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 12: Preparations

Laura's eyes blinked open in the early morning light. _About time_ , she thought to herself, seeing Remington still sound asleep next to her. Stretching contentedly, she ran her hand up his outer leg, over his hip and across his rib cage in the process. The naps the day prior coupled with their early retirement the night before had gone a long way to restoring her to her normal schedule, a fact she delighted in.

 _I'm back on my game_ , she smiled to herself, _him still asleep, me wide awake ready to get my day underway._

Laura climbed out of bed, walked over to the French doors and opening them went to stand on the balcony. Taking a deep breath, she smiled contentedly, wrapping her arms around herself as she closed her eyes and leaned her head back, enjoying the feel of the gentle breeze caressing her skin. _Greece_ , she sighed. Glancing back at him still sleeping, a smile twitching at his lips, she said out loud "Xenos."

 _I love who he is here_ , she thought to herself not for the first time. _So relaxed, so content, no demons chasing him_. Looking out at the water, she could picture him at eleven years old swimming in those crystal blue waters, laughing, being a child who was cared for instead of one struggling to take care of himself on the streets. Turning to look at him again, a lock of hair falling over his brow, she found herself wishing she had known him when he was a boy. Would he have been her first crush? Would they have been friends? There was no way to answer those questions but the one thing she knew in her heart was if she had known him then, she would have done everything she could to have made him feel wanted, safe.

"Laura," he mumbled, reaching for her even as he slept.

Her name, his reaching for her, was like a siren's call for her. Without even thinking consciously about doing it, she walked to the bed, climbed in, and curled back into his arms. His arm reached around her and pulled her close to him.

The day ahead would have to wait. The sound of his heart beat lulled her back to sleep.

* * *

When Laura woke, he was gone. Not just gone out of their bedroom, but gone, as in nowhere to be found. She turned her head when she heard the clattering of pots and pans in the kitchen. She smiled to herself thinking, _I should have known_.

After a quick shower, Laura strolled into the kitchen and found herself enveloped in Elena's hug instead of Remington's. She returned it immediately. She truly liked Elena, not only because she was kind but because she loved Remington so much both now and back then. Without a thought she had taken a strange child into her home, nursed him back to health and then welcomed him into their family as one of her own. In doing so, she had given Remington one of the few pieces of happiness, of love that he had known in his childhood.

Elena, releasing Laura from the hug, began bustling around the kitchen. "Sit and eat, Laura," Elena said, pronouncing her name "Lair-uh" the same as her husband, while sitting a plate of fresh fruit and a couple of wedges of cheese down at the counter in front of her. Laura pulled her up onto a stool and grabbed a piece of kiwi from the plate. "Our Xenos is home again so soon. This makes us very happy. We have missed him greatly throughout the years. Marcos and I both thank you for bringing our boy back to us again." Elena crossed the room and patted Laura's free hand, then returned to the sink to rinse the vegetables that would be used in the salad that would accompany dinner that evening.

"Actually, I didn't even know we were coming to Greece the first time. He wouldn't tell me where we were going until we arrived. It wasn't until the plane touched down that I realized he was bringing me here to meet you." Elena positively beamed at her.

"Marcos said that Xenos had spoken of us to you."

"Very fondly, although it was only recently that I realized this is one of the few places he has ever thought of as home. Your family, what you did for him, means the world to him."

"I cannot tell you the joy it brings to all of us that you choose to wed our Xenos here," Elena told her, walking over and clasping Laura's face in her hands, then kissing her on each cheek. Laura flushed, then smiled widely at the older woman.

"It wasn't me. It was Xenos. This is where he wanted our marriage to be held," she gave a gentle shrug. "You're his family."

"And your family, Laura? Will they not be disappointed?" The question made Laura cringe inside. She had no doubt Frances and her mother had learned of her first 'wedding' by now, and that there would be an untold amount of tears and dramatics when she returned home. When they learned of this one? She didn't even want to think about _that_ right now.

"I'm sure they will be, but they live in LA. We'll celebrate holidays and other events with them. He deserves for this to be about him, his family. He needs this, especially after the loss of Daniel." Elena nodded, her smiling falling away.

"Marcos and I, we have prayed for Daniel. Had he not found our Xenos when he did…" Elena trailed off then waved her hand at the air "… the thought is too much to bear." The words gave Laura pause, even as she nodded her agreement.

"Daniel meant a great deal to him," she said aloud.

"And you, Laura, are a gift to all of us. You have taught our Xenos that he can believe in love, he can trust in it. You've given him a hope that had never existed in him before."

Laura felt tears threatening, Elena's word had touched her so deeply. Getting up she went and hugged Elena telling her "No, Xenos is a gift to me." The older woman's eyes welled with tears of joy.

"I almost forgot. Xenos asked that I send you out to the veranda. He has left something for you. Go, go see what he has left."

Laura kissed Elena on the cheek then walked out to the veranda to see what Remington had been up to this time. It took her a long minute before she saw a piece of paper fluttering the breeze, held down by something on top of it. Laura walked over and removed the note from under the pair of binoculars and walkie talkie holding it down.

She opened the note and read:

" _Good Morning, love. Search for the ship, 'Elena', then pick up the radio and let me know you are here. I'll be waiting for you."_

She laughed, delighted with his creativity. Picking up the binoculars she scanned the horizon until she found the ship. Zooming in closer, she used them to locate him on the deck. Her nerve ends shimmered to life, as she found him, shirtless, wearing a pair of jeans and tennis shoes, helping to pull crates from the crane as they came up from the hull below.

Switching on the walkie talkie,she called into it "Good Morning, Mr. Steele." She watched as he looked up, then reached to his waist to grab his walkie talkie from where it was hooked on his belt.

"Good Morning, Mrs. Steele. About time you joined me." She could see his smile, as he walked to the ledge of the ship then picked up a pair of binoculars he had stashed there. In short notice he had them trained on her, then gave an exaggerated leer for her benefit. "You look positively delectable this morning, love."

She threw back her head and laughed. "You're looking awfully tasty yourself, Rem. What are you doing down there?"

"Marcos was running short a few deck hands this morning. I volunteered to pitch in. I hope you don't mind," he called back.

"Not at all," she radioed back, "When will you be home?"

"I'll be there to join you for lunch before our appointment with Ioseph. Try not to miss me too terribly."

"Ohhh, I'll do my best." Laura scanned the area around the boat really fast with her binoculars, then looked over her shoulder to make sure Elena was not nearby. Putting down her binoculars, she slowly unbuttoned her blouse, then opened it. He watched from the deck of the ship, riveted.

"Giving me a little preview of that fan dance I have been dying to see?" he called over the radio.

"Let's just say, a little teaser," she laughed.

"You're killing me, Laura."

"I know," she called back laughing. "See you at lunch." She put down the walkie talkie and began buttoning back up her blouse then walked into the house to get ready to head to town and shop for a wedding dress.

* * *

Remington returned to the house to find Elena and Laura lounging on the veranda laughing with one another. Laura's caught sight of him as he passed through the veranda doors, nothing his tan had deepened at least three shades throughout the day. _He looks… delicious,_ she thought to herself as she cast an admiring and leisurely glance down his body, that he didn't fail to miss. Walking over to where she sat, he leaned down and brushed his lips over hers, before turning and bending down to place a kiss on Elena's cheek as well.

"Give me ten minutes to shower and I'll make us up a little something for lunch," he told his wife.

"There's no need," she said with a shake of her head, "Elena and I made spanakopita for lunch. I'll have it waiting when you get back." After working all morning on the ship, he was famished and now regarded Laura with a wary look.

"Don't worry," she assured him with a laugh, "Elene cooked, I only assisted."

"Mmmmm," he hummed his acknowledgment, then leaned in for another kiss before departing.

When Remington returned in short order, true to her word Laura had lunch set out at a small table on the veranda. Seating himself, he picked up the glass of ice tea waiting for him and took a long pull on the cool beverage.

"How did your little shopping excursion go this morning, love?" He asked, before picking up a fork and digging in his lunch. Laura scrunched her nose at him briefly, making it known, enjoyable company or not, she still wasn't a fan of shopping.

"I couldn't find exactly what I had in mind, so Elena cajoled the seamstress into making it for me." He looked up at her surprised.

"And it will be ready in time?" She nodded.

"In time for fitting tomorrow, even. How was your day? For a man that hates legwork it was a little shocking to see you volunteering for manual labor," she mused. He shot her a quelling look, then laughed softly.

"I believe I've done my fair share of legwork since London and, on a particular occasion where my lovely partner disappeared on me, more than my share," he reminded her. "The work on the ship is familiar and Marcos needed a hand. I didn't mind lending it."

"And our interview with Iospeh. Are you prepared for that?" she asked, raising her brows at him.

"Why wouldn't I be? Again, familiar territory. Elena has made certain he's gotten hold of me each time I've come out."

"I might learn some of those secrets you've been keeping all these years," she pointed out teasingly. He regarded her quite seriously, and gave a careless shrug.

"I doubt that, as I believe you know pretty much the whole of it by now. But even if not, I've nothing to hide… from you at least. Besides, unless I'm wrong on the matter, he can really only give me penance for those things since last confession and that was five years ago." He watched as Laura blanched before his eyes. Setting down his fork, he leaned back in his chair and gave a knowing grin.

"How long's it been, Laura?" he asked, taking great enjoyment in the question. She sat back and crossed her arms.

"I don't want to talk about this," she answered, tipping her chin up. His grin only spread wider.

"How long's it been, Laura?" he asked again, earning him a frown.

"fi- n – rs," she mumbled. His eyes twinkled at her.

"I'm sorry, love, I didn't hear that," he laughed.

"You're enjoying this way too much," she groused, scrunching her nose at him.

"I am indeed. Now, stop trying to squirm around it. How long?" She sighed deeply, irritated that she allowed herself to lapse for so long and now it seemed it was time to pay the piper.

"Fifteen years," she bit out, then relaxed on a shake of her head. "I haven't gone since my father walked out." He leaned back in his chair, a smug look on his face. She resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at him. "Alright, you've had your fun."

"I suspect the fun's only just begun," he countered, with a laugh. "Care to give me a little sneak preview of what juicy little tidbits I might learn today?" She shook her head at him, emphatically.

"Not on your life." As a thought crossed her mind, she smiled widely. "Besides, even if he makes me take confession, it's private. You won't be there." This earned a loud laugh from him. A frown formed between her eyes.

"What?" The frown deepened as he only continued to laugh. "Mr. Steele, keep that up and I'll…. I'll… Hell, I don't know what I'll do, but I'll do something. Now what's so funny?"

"Were you not at the same dinner I was last evening?" he asked, trying to stop his laughter and failing in the endeavor. She looked at him perplexed now.

"Yes, but what does that have to do with today?" He shook his head at his normally quick witted wife.

"Did you not see him tallying up the penances he would be assigning various family members throughout the meal?"

"Of course. But again…"

"Does it appear…" he interrupted her, "… that when it comes to family, Ioseph is the least bit concerned with tradition or propriety?" Laura cocked her head to the side questioningly, and then when the implications of what he said sank in, she shot up in her seat and looked at him in horror.

"You're not saying…"

"I am."

"But he can't…"

"Still he does." Laura slunk down in her seat in misery, then sat back up laughing.

"You almost had me believing you…" she began, for him to simply look at her. She groaned in misery. "Are you honestly telling me that he'll make us take _confession in front of each other_?" He shrugged.

"If he holds true to what he did to Zeth and Christos, yes and I don't see why it wouldn't. Iospeh claims it's because there should be no secrets in marriage and the slate should be clean prior to vows. Personally? I believe it's his way of getting back at any family member who offended him across the years," he grinned.

"And if we refuse?"

"Then he won't marry us." Laura sat back in her chair, crossing her arms again and glaring at him. Leaning over his plate to take a bite, he did a double take. Laying the fork back down, he held up his hands.

"Now Laura, surely you can't be blaming me for this."

"You had to be related to a _Priest_ , and a testy one at that."

"That's hardly my fault. And can I point out, we're not really related?" He watched as she shoved herself up out of her chair.

"Let's go," she ground out. He looked from his plate to her then back to his plate. She grabbed his hand and gave his arm a pull. He stood and followed her, looking back over his shoulder at their abandoned meal.

"But Laura, the food…" he tried to object.

"You'll be fine," she assured him tersely.

He followed along after her muttering under his breath about wives who starve their husbands after a hard day's work.

* * *

They arrived back at the house shortly before five. Laura had insisted on staying in town while Remington, Zeth, Christos and Mikos had their suits fit at the local tailor. If she liked shopping at all, she would have done serious damage to her credit card with a little retail therapy after their meeting with Ioseph. But, since she loathed the task, she'd gone off in search of chocolate and coffee instead. When they'd arrived back at the house, she'd headed directly to their room, still trying to process what had happened that afternoon. She waited until Remington shut the door before turning to him.

"I don't understand," she said finally. "How did I get a two hundred Hail Mary's and Our Father's? I would do anything to make the world a better place. I don't ask for much, I'm not materialistic. I rarely lie. So how do I end with triple what you got? I'm the good one!"

He turned his back to her, trying to quell his laughter. Nevertheless, she saw his shoulder shaking as he laughed silently.

"Don't laugh! It's not funny," she pouted, actually stomping her foot.

"Really Laura, you didn't have to tell Ioseph that you had been with three men before me," He'd been secretly pleased to know there was no one beyond the three men she'd already told him about…even more so that there had been no one since they'd met.

"What did you want me to do? Lie to a Priest? It's been _seven years_ for God's sake! _Unlike you_!" she groused. "Three men in thirty-one years and yet, the connoisseur of sex, walks out of this almost sainted."

He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged, then laughed again.

"I can't even believe he bought that tripe about there having been no one since Nadine! What did you do, buy him off?" Laura asked now, laughing as well. She turned to look at him when his own laughter had stopped at her words. She was shocked to see he was equally offended and hurt. Her heart did a sentimental flip-flop in her chest at the possible implications. "Were you telling the _truth_?" she asked in a quiet, stunned voice.

"I may not have always been the most honest person, Laura, but even at my worse I've not been in the habit of lying to Priests," he answered.

"But… Nadine… that was…"

"Nearly four years ago? Mmmm," he hummed with a nod.

"Why? When we weren't…" He shook his head at her.

"I'd think the why of it would be clear," he told her, frustration edging his tone. He paced several steps then turned back to her. "I realized fairly early on, when Phillips entered our lives, that if I were to continue seeing other women, that you weren't going to sit around at home waiting for me. You told me as much, as a matter of fact."

* * *

" _ **Well, you certainly don't expect me to sit at home while you-"**_

 _ **"While I what?"**_

 _ **"Never mind."**_

 _ **"My apologies. Whom you choose to become involved with is none of my business. I have no claim on your personal life."**_

 _ **"I didn't think you were interested in one."**_

 _ **"Well, it's your rule, never mix business with-"**_

 _ **"Pleasure," she finished.**_

 _ **"Well, yes, I suppose."**_

" _ **Well, it's not a hard and fast rule."**_

* * *

"Outside of your little pique of… jealousy, dare I say it… when Felicia showed up in my flat unannounced, that was the first time you came close to admitting that you wanted this as much as I," he pointed out. "I certainly wasn't willing to take the risk that should I continue with my… dalliances… then you might do the same. So I sent Miss Taplinger packing, and that was that."

"But I never told you not to. In fact, I think I made it clear that I assumed you were having your little 'dalliances'," she pointed out.

* * *

" _ **You're a grown man, and I'm a grown woman."**_

* * *

"And I believe I told you when we returned from London how that little gem of yours never failed to annoy me, did I not?" He sighed, then with a sweep of his hand through his hair, decided to take another approach. "Laura, why haven't you gone to bed with another man since we've met?" She visibly squirmed at the question.

"Because I didn't want to," she finally answered.

"Then why would you think it would be any different for me? I gave up my old life, changed who I was, what I was for you. Bloody hell, even Felicia knew that I was off the market, so to speak, when she showed up a mere month or so after I'd arrived. Any idea of this, between us, being a mere dalliance… an amusing fling… had already been dispelled by then. What would you have me do? Seduce a bevy of women into my bed, then return to you right afterwards, to flirt with you, to court you, to try to win your heart? Did you really think I valued what was between us so little, that I would do that?" Laura was shaking her head before he finished.

"When you put it like that, no," she admitted. "And after Cannes? When you were in London?" He lifted his hands and dropped them.

"Was I tempted after Cannes? I won't lie and say I didn't consider it when it became clear you meant to stick by your decision, no matter how hard it was on the both of us. Yet, the couple of dates I went on made it clear that together or not, the only woman I wanted to be with was you. If I were already waiting out your decision by staying, I may as well wait it out in that regard as well." He laughed shortly. "Not that I really had a choice, when all I could think of was you: the taste of you, the smell of you, the feel of you in my arms. I was yours, whether you wanted to accept that or not." He watched as Laura's lips twitched across the room, then shot her a puzzled look. "What?"

"I was just thinking…" she answered, walking to him and gripping his waist with her hands, looked up at him, "it only seems fair that you already thought of yourself as mine, since I'd been yours from nearly the start… whether I wanted to accept that or not." He smiled widely at her admission and slid his arms around her waist.

"Is that so, Mrs. Steele?"

"Mmm hmmmm," she answered on a hum. Removing her hands from his waist, she threaded her fingers through his hair. "It seems I've continually underestimated you, haven't I, Rem?" His arms tightened around her waist, drawing her closer.

"I'm sure I'll be able to think of a thing or two you can do to make it up to me," he whispered, leaning down and brushing his lips against hers before settling over them. He pulled back, when the kiss threatened to run away with them. "I don't think that would serve either of us well at the moment," he grinned down at her.

"You're probably right," she agreed, stepping out of his arms, then turned to look at the bed where a suit was already laid out for Remington, while a stunning, sequined, short turquoise sheath awaited her as well. "Shopping again?" she queried. He shook his head at her.

"Melina's doing, I would imagine. The girl likes nothing more than to shop… whether for herself or others," he chuckled. "Go shower, love, and get ready. We have a rehearsal and dinner to attend to," he told her with a smile. She gave him a nod, and gathered together fresh undergarments and her robe.

"It's still not fair, you know… for me to get nearly triple what you did." Remington threw back his head and laughed.

"Ah, but I didn't admit to a bevy of misdeeds during the course of our work then challenge Ioseph that they should be considered exceptions, now did I? Perhaps, next time you'll take more care when he's in attendance at a family dinner, eh?" he smirked. His words were rewarded with a pillow to his head, before Laura sauntered saucily from the room.

* * *

Remington walked over to the French doors, and after opening them stepped out onto the balcony. Glancing at his watch, he watched boats bob and sail on the Aegean below. Another glance at his watch a few minutes later and he grinned to himself. _Time for a little payback_ , he thought to himself before leaving the bedroom and walking down the hall before quietly picking the lock to the bathroom door and sliding through the opening. He grinned, as he relatched the door, listening as Laura sang to herself in the shower. He stripped down quietly then slipped into the shower behind her, reaching his hand out around her waist and splaying his fingers across her stomach.

"What are you doing?" she whispered to him. "Half the family is out there!"

"So, we'll be quiet," he whispered back, grinning wickedly at her. She thought about protesting for posture's sake, then shook the idea off. Her body was already humming at his touch and if he was willing to be daring, so was she.

"What do you have in mind, Mr. Steele?" she asked in a sultry voice.

"Just a shower, Mrs. Steele. I thought in the interest of the environment, perhaps we could conserve some water." Her lips twitch in a knowing smile.

"Well, if it's for the environment…."

Reaching for the bar of soap, Remington lathered up his hands, then stroked them over her wet skin, across her hips, then abdomen, then further downwards, brushing over her before slowly moving back upwards, lathering her breasts until he felt her nipples harden under his hand. She hummed from the sensuousness of it all, as her hands reached behind her to skim up over his lean legs, before settling on his bum and pulling him closer to her. With a smile she turned in his arms, then after lathering up her own hands handed him the soap the do the same to his own while she stroked and caressed a fine lather across his chest and abdomen. Turning them to rinse off, he exchanged the favor, his hands moving across her back and bottom with achingly slow movements that left her threading her fingers through his hair and pulling his head down to hers for a kiss.

"Rem," she murmured against his lips.

Turning them again, he caught her under the arms and lifted her until she clasped her legs around his waist and wrapped her arms around his neck, so her hands could find his hair and tangle in it. Laura squirmed in his arms and moaned deep in her throat when she felt the tip of him at her entrance. He shifted away from her, and leaning her against the wall, dipped his head down to take a taut nipple in his mouth, alternately suckling on it, and flicking his tongue against it. He barely managed to catch her mouth under his before she cried out from pure pleasure pulsing through her body. He kissed her deeply, slowly tapering the kiss back until it was nothing more than a series of gentle touches. Groaning to himself, he unhooked her arms from around his neck, letting her slide down his body. Unable to resist, he leaned in for one last kiss before stepping from the shower.

Laura stood, open mouthed, staring at him. "Where are you going?" she asked in a loud whisper, her voice silky with unhidden passion.

"To get dressed for dinner," he smiled wickedly at her, as he toweled down quickly and began to redress. "Paybacks, love, paybacks."

Watching the bathroom door, she fumed momentarily, then burst out laughing, vowing she would pay him back for this.

Outside in the hall, Remington leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, trying to gain control over his rampaging desire. After a couple of minutes, he stood and walked to their room telling himself that there was no may about it, he was definitely suicidal.

* * *

The wedding rehearsal went off without a hitch, and the dinner the followed was blessedly free of any confessions that might have resulted in penance for any of the family members. Periodically throughout the evening, Laura made it a point to give Remington a small glare, enjoying watching him squirm as he wondered exactly how displeased his wife and bride-to-be was with him. When he'd try to get a read on her, she'd carefully assume the blank look for which she was so well known, disguising any hints that he might find there. While she'd seemed perfectly happy and content throughout the rehearsal itself, he was now left questioning if that was just a performance for the family's sake. He certainly hoped not. It was bad enough being quite possibly the only man – ever – who had not made love with his wife for weeks after their wedding and the very thought of repeating that pattern was enough to make his entire body ache with need.

Now, he leaned back against the low-slung wall of the veranda, watching as his lovely wife danced with his brother, Christos. It brought at least a small amount of comfort to realize he was not the only one in Laura's bad graces, as he watched the couple with amusement.

"Tell me, Laura, did you find your counseling session with Ioseph…" he grimaced as her foot accidentally landed on his toes, then continued on, "…as interesting as Helen and I did as we prepared to wed?"

"Actually…" she answered, sending him an apologetic look as she stepped on his toes again, "… I was telling Xenos earlier this evening…" another misstep, accompanied by another apologetic look "… that it seemed unfair" another misstep, this time accompanied by a grunt by him, and a small shrug by her "…that I received almost triple the penance…" and again "… that he did…" another misstep "… for some reason."

Christos adjusted their frame, placing her a bit further from his body. "Ioseph's a bit perverted in that manner," he empathized. "He seems to believe it is his personal duty to save the souls of each of us, even if he has to resort to some nefarious means." Laura stumbled, accidentally landing on his foot with her full weight on her heel. "Oomf," he breathed, trying to resist the urge to separate himself from her and grab the injured foot.

Across the room, Remington laughed openly at her antics. He turned his head when he felt a hand clap him on the shoulder and found Zeth had come to join him.

"What has you so amused, Xen?" Zeth inquired. Remington nodded towards the dance floor. Zeth watched Laura and Christos for half a minute, his face contorting in compassion for his brother as Laura managed to land on his foot several more times.

"Is Laura often so… out of rhythm when she dances Xen?" Zeth asked, cringing as Laura landed on Christos's foot again. Remington chuckled at the notion.

"Laura is the epitome of grace on the dance floor," he answered. He raised a brow as Laura managed to land her heel squarely in the middle of Christos's foot for a second time. "It would seem my lovely wife has taken exception to the penance she received from Ioseph due to Chris's antics yesterday, and is determined to extract her pound of flesh," he explained, laughing when Laura 'miss stepped' again.

"Chris won't be able to walk for a week by the time she's done with him," Zeth mulled, then began laughing softly until it grew to a crescendo as he watched Laura's tromp upon Chris's foot three more times. "Maybe at last he'll understand that these little games of his with Ioseph are tiresome, at best."

"Speaking as one who is all too familiar with a heel in the foot, he'll not repeat the action, at least not where it involves Laura," he grinned. Zeth looked at Remington with undisguised surprise.

"She's done this to you then?" The question only drew another laugh from Remington.

"Mmmm. I was lucky I could still walk after our first year together," he smiled at the memories. "I'd managed to avoid that heel of hers for nearly three years, before I found it wedged in my foot again not too long back."

Zeth waited for Remington to explain, but when he remained silent prodded, "Should I ask why she felt the need, Xen?" Remington glanced at Zeth, then returned his eyes to the dance floor.

"An untimely resurrection of someone from my past," he answered vaguely. "If you'll excuse me, I think I'll go claim the next dance with my wife."

Remington crossed the dance floor and hadn't even had to ask permission to cut in. The look of relief on Christos's face was enough to make Remington smile. When that same man fled as quickly as he could limp away from Laura the smile turned into a full out laugh. Gathering her into his arms, he gazed down approvingly at her.

"It seems you developed two left feet, love. Christos will be limping for a long while after that, er, performance." Laura flashed him a smug little smile.

"Seems fair to me given he walked me right into Ioseph's lair," she told him, without apology. He gave a little hum to her in agreement.

"I suspected as much." He dipped his head down, to speak next to her ear. "So, am I back in your good graces yet or should I expect a heel through the instep as well?" She snickered quietly.

"Have you done something to land yourself on my bad side?" she asked, toying with the short hair at his collar. He returned to his full height so that he could look down at her. She blanked her face so that he could read nothing there, only leaving him to shift in discomfort.

"It would seem so given the number of disapproving looks I've received this evening." She admirably tried to hide the slight quiver at the corner of her lips by tucking her head against his shoulder, and nearly succeeded, though she was not quite quick enough for his sharply trained eyes. "Ah, I see. A little payback of your own perhaps, making me stew in my sauce all evening, eh?" His warm laughter was matched only by that in the twinkling amber eyes that peered up at him.

"Perhaps," she agreed, stroking a hand up over his chest and across a shoulder. "I don't think either of us are up to payback of the like at the moment, do you?" He ducked his head back down to lay her lips near her ear.

"How did we do it these last years? It's been a mere forty hours since last we made love, yet it's taking every ounce of willpower not to haul you out of the here and take you off to where I can have my way with you." She pressed her lips at that spot under his ear, sending jolts of current through his body.

"I know what you mean, Mr. Steele," she said in a voice filled with such blatant desire, that it drew a small laugh from him as he pulled her a bit closer. "I hope you have a plan for tomorrow night."

"I do and those plans don't involve either of us getting so much as a wink of sleep." Her fingers drew softly down his back, sending a shiver down his spine.

"Thank God for that," she sighed with relief. Leaning back, he ran his fingers down the side of her neck then leaned in to touch his lips to hers softly.

"Ah, Laura, you've no idea how it makes me feel to know you want to be as close to me as I do you," he murmured. Smiling softly, she touched the tips of her fingers to a cheek.

"I do… want to be close to you. More than you know." An arm tightened around her in a hug and he rubbed a cheek against the side of her head, her words swallowing him whole. That they'd finally stopped hiding from one another was so new to him, he still often wondered if this was no more than a wonderful dream from which he'd awaken soon. They danced the remainder of the song, and the next, in quiet, both of them content in simply enjoying the nearness of the other.

It was after midnight when the guests left, and Remington shooed Laura off to their room. He'd sensed the moment her mood had changed to one of quiet reflection and knew that she'd appreciate a little time left to her own thoughts. For someone that hid from her emotions even more so than he did his own, the past weeks had held one emotional maelstrom after another. Certainly, their wedding day would be just yet another event beset with emotion, perhaps the largest of them all. The only thing that had surprised him about her thoughtful mood was that it had not happened before now. He could only hope that by the time he finished helping Elena clean up and then showered, she would have worked through whatever was on her mind.

Remington was not off the mark. Changing out of her clothes and pulling on one of his shirts, she wandered out onto balcony as she had each night they'd spent here. Crossing her arms, she leaned against the balcony wall and set the analytical side of herself free to explore the thoughts and questions that had been accumulating over the course of the last week as she'd allowed herself to get lost in the peacefulness that had surrounded she and Remington. Now, however, their return to real life was quickly approaching. Tomorrow, they would marry, then the following afternoon they would depart for London, and only three days after that they would return home. Then, things would change and change rapidly.

She'd come up with no solutions only more questions by the time she sensed his presence behind her. She smiled as his hand smoothed across her waist so his arm could encircle her. She ran a hand down his forearms, then tangled her fingers with his before leaning back into him.

"Have you sorted it all out yet?" he asked while planting a kiss atop her head. She shook her head.

"No, not at all. Each answer just seems to create more questions." He nodded his head thoughtfully.

"Regrets?" She turned in his arms and wrapping her arms around him, pressed herself tightly against him while leaning back her head to look at him. A soft smile played on her lips, and her eyes glowed with tenderness when her eyes met his. She shook her head slowly.

"None. At least not in the way you mean. I wouldn't trade this last week, tomorrow, for anything in the world." He closed his eyes, and wrapped his arms around her shoulder, gathering her even more tightly to him. Resting his chin on top of her head, he swayed them in a comforting motion, until she pulled free.

"Can we sit?" She asked, lacing her fingers with his and indicating the lounge nestled into a corner of the balcony.

"Of course," he nodded then led her to the lounge. Stretching out on it, he waited for her to settle between his legs, then wrapped his arms around her. She lifted one of his hands from around her stomach and began her nearly nightly ritual of stroking it with her fingers. Closing his eyes, he relaxed behind her, allowing the silence to cloak them, knowing she would talk when she was ready. Intuitively, he knew whatever was on her mind would change the course of their future in some way.

Laura stirred. "A lot has happened in this last week."

"True, true," he nodded behind her.

Laura paused, struggling to find the right words. Then continued, "I feel like I took a turn onto a road, the right road this time, and suddenly my life hit fast forward. Then suddenly, here I am, where I think I always knew I wanted to be someday but still was too afraid to turn onto the road that would bring me here."

"Ah, the source of the regrets then?"

"Yes," she acknowledged, nodding again, her fingers finding his wedding band and stroking it. "Not about where we finally are, but about all the wrong roads we took before choosing the right one. Then there are all the questions."

"Questions?"

"Yes, questions. How much time have we lost that we can never get back? How much time could have been saved if we had taken the risk sooner, just let the chips fall where they may? Then there are the questions about what's ahead. How do we convince the INS that this, us, is real? Where do we live? How will this, or even will this, change things at work? How do we find a balance so we don't sacrifice our personal relationship for the professional one again?" Laura trailed off.

"All of those questions have answers Laura, at least to some degree and I've asked them all myself. You're not alone in that."

"Any answers?"

"Mmmm, some."

"If we're going to do this… really do this… I don't want to do it halfway, Rem. Starting with where we live…"

"Laura, if you want to remain at the loft, then that's what we'll do. I don't much care where I lay my head down at night, so long as it's next to yours." She shook her head.

"That's not what I mean," she let out a frustrated sigh, then stopped talking all together. A minute ticked by, then another, before he lifted her hand and ran his lips across her knuckles.

"Talk to me, Laura," he prodded quietly. She turned to look at him, the returned her attention to his wedding band. After a long minute, she let out a deep sigh, then spoke pensively.

"I think we need to find a place that is ours. Not mine that you moved into, or yours that I moved into. You hate the stairs at my loft, the kitchen is not what you need, and we're both well aware of the limitations of my hot water tank," she sighed again, gathering her thoughts before she continued. "I love your apartment, I do. We have so many memories there – our dinner parties that we used to nail a suspect, the dancing, the fireplace, the nights we would just curl up together and watch a movie…" she shook her head and trailed off.

"But it's also the place where I left you, is that it?" he asked as the guilt assailed him. She shook her head again, and reached behind her to lay her fingers on his cheek.

"Not at all. I think I fell in love with you there, more than anywhere else. When we were there, alone, you'd drop the personas and be yourself." She turned her head to look at him, ran her fingertips from cheek to jaw. "This." She tilted up her chin when he leaned down to touch his lips against hers. Smoothing her hand against his jaw a last time, she turned back around. Recognition suddenly dawned on him.

"Your piano…" She closed her eyes and nodded. "It seems you've already found the answer then. When we get back to LA, we'll start looking."

"Are you sure?" Lifting her hand, he pressed his lips against it again.

"I believe I already told you, I'm happy with wherever we live, so long as I lay my head next to yours, didn't I?" She nodded. "What's next on that little list of yours?"

"Work… Us…" she lifted her hand then dropped it, then, reconsidering she returned to tracing pretty patterns in his hand, the act as comforting to her as it was to him.

"Ah, yes, finding a balance between the personal and professional, wasn't it?" She hummed her acknowledgment. "Odd, as I thought we'd already figured that particular problem out over the course of the last year. Phone off the hook, no answering doors, taking time for just us. Am I wrong?" She mulled the question then gave a short laugh.

"No, you're not. But, I was thinking we need to take it a step further." He cocked his head to look at her.

"How do you mean?"

"Hiring that answering service you've been telling me for years that we need. Agreeing that, except for when it's unavoidable, we're unavailable after eight in the evening. And, we make it clear to Mildred that business remains within business hours." Remington laughed aloud at the last part.

"And you believe our Miss Krebs will be unable to resist the impulse to search us down when the mood so strikes her?"

"No," Laura admitted, chiming in with a laugh of her own. "But, even if we can cut down her interruptions by half, it will be a huge improvement."

"That it will. So it seems you've already found the answer to that question as well. What else have you got?"

"Questions with no answers," she puffed out.

"Such as?"

"How much time have we lost?" she asked with a shake of her head. He hummed while he considered her question.

"Perhaps that's not the right question," he said thoughtfully. A crease formed between her brows and her hand on his stilled.

"What do you mean?" Remington shifted Laura in his arms so that she lay looking up at him.

"The right question is: How many years will it take me to make up for all those years lost?" He gave her a seductive little wag of his brows that brought a smile to her face. She raised her brows to him.

"Oh, it is, is it? So how long do you think it will take, Mr. Steele?" He pretended to seriously consider her question, even as his blue eyes sparked with mischief.

"At least nine to ten, I'd say, Mrs. Steele."

"That's rather fascinating math, after all it only took you four years to coax me into your bed. Care to explain?"

"Well, certainly I won't be making up for any of that time for at least the first two years. Newlyweds, and all that implies," he wagged his brows at her again. "So by year three, perhaps I'll make up a month or two." He pretended to mull her question further. "Now that I think of it, you're quite right. At least twenty years… or perhaps by our silver anniversary… then again, perhaps by our…" Laura laughed at his antics before interrupting him.

"Mr. Steele?"

"Yes, Mrs. Steele?" he responded with a raised brow.

"Shut up and kiss me."

"That I can do," he murmured, before covering his mouth with her own. They lost themselves in the kiss, until a small hum from Laura had Remington pull away. "Yes, well, that may not do either one of us a bit a good at the moment," he said ruefully, as he shifted beneath her, trying to squelch his body's automatic response to her taste, her touch, her scent. She snickered in response, earning her another lift of a brow, before he shifted her back up to lean against him again. Nuzzling her cheek with his he asked, "So, what exactly are we looking for in a new home, other than, of course, room for a piano?"

They talked until deep in the night, neither one able to say when they fell asleep or who drifted off first, only knowing they found themselves still on the lounge the next morning when the sunrise eased them awake.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 13: Of Preludes and Vows

As the sun peeked across the horizon, it was Laura who first woke, slightly disoriented, as her eyes fluttered opened and she stared at an arm rest and beyond it a stucco wall. It took a couple of seconds for her sleep dazed mind to process that she and Remington had fallen asleep on the lounge chair on the balcony outside of their room. At some point of the night he must have woken long enough to lower the back of the lounge down, as they lay flat now, instead of in the reclined position she last remembered. Despite the confines of their temporary bed, he'd managed to spoon into her, keeping her close with an arm draped across her waist.

She smiled, stretching like a cat as she came fully awake, then shimmied her body around until she faced him. Her hand reached up to draw her fingers through his hair enticing a smile from him in his sleep. Sinking her teeth into her lower lip, then smiling around it, her brows lifted as a little bit of the devil seeped into her. Dancing her fingers across his chest, she savored the feel of his hair sweeping over her fingers, before her mouth found his neck and settled in for a delightful little nibble and taste.

"Laura…" he muttered without opening his eyes, "That's not going to do either of any good at the moment and I'm already on edge being tucked up against that delightful little bum of yours most of the night." With a wicked little laugh, she stroked a single finger down his chest, determinedly continuing a downwards path. A hand swiftly grabbed hers before she could reach the destination she had in mind. "Laura…" he said warningly, "We'll not be having any of that when we still have at least half a day before we can… assuage those needs." Sleep dazed blue eyes blinked open to look into mischievous brown ones. She flicked her brows at him.

"Last chance, Mr. Steele. Are you sure you still want to go through with it?" she teased. He ran the back of his fingers down a cheek.

"Well, Mrs. Steele, given you've made an honest man of me, it seems the least I can do is make an honest woman of you now that I've… besmirched… your honor," he answered in return, turning on his back and pulling her partially atop him.

"Is that so?" she smiled down at him, drawing her fingers through his hair.

"Mmmmm, especially given I have no plans, whatsoever, of suddenly becoming noble in that regard," he wagged his brows.

"Thank God," she laughed. Leaning down, she held his eyes with her own as she brushed a kiss across his lips. "I think it's time we get this show on the road, don't you?" Rolling off of him, she gracefully took to her feet and headed into their bedroom. He grinned as he watched her slim form, clad only in his pajama shirt, with appreciation.

"Indeed it is, Miss Holt, indeed it is," he said to himself as he rose to follow her inside.

After dressing for the day, and sharing a quick breakfast together, Remington and Laura, per Elena's schedule, secured their wedding license. After they had the paper in hand, it seemed there was a conspiracy afoot, as one event after another prevented them from seeing each other, let alone spending time together, the remainder of the day. When Laura was whisked away to Zeth's home by the Androkus women to prepare for the wedding, it was clear that, in this particular case, all was as it seemed.

Two and a half hours later, nearly a hundred people filled the Androkus home, aunts, uncles, cousins and their children proving to provide a full audience to the upcoming nuptials. Remington shook his head, knowing full-well that Laura would be stunned to realize that a small, immediate family only affair here on Santorini was what would amount to a fairly good sized wedding in the States. The veranda had been completely transformed throughout the afternoon and was now a chapel perched high above the water. White chairs lined either side of the red carpeted aisle. Poles had been carefully installed on the veranda's walls, and white fabric now flowed down from them, billowing in the light breeze. Large pots filled with pink, red and white hyacinth and gladiolus ran along the bottom of the veranda walls. A wedding arch, woven with hyacinth, had been constructed by the west wall, so that the couple would be framed by the setting sun. Paderewski's _Nocturne in B Flat_ , wafted on the breeze as Steele, walked to take his place on the right side of the makeshift altar.

He'd expected to be nervous. Instead, he was pleasantly surprised to find he was only filled with a peaceful anticipation. He gave his head a slight shake, and chuckled softly to himself. He, the dedicated bachelor, the man that stayed nowhere for more than a few weeks at a time, eager to bind himself for life to one woman: a woman that had captivated and challenged him from the first moment they had met. The battle for her heart had been won, yet knowing Laura Holt… no Laura Steele… as he did, he had no doubt their future would be filled with one challenge after the next. The thought made him… smile.

He and Laura had decided that casual elegance was the call of the day. Remington brushed a stray hair off of the sleeve of his light beige, tailored suit coat, then adjusted the blue tie that was the shade of his eyes, contrasting vividly with the crisp white dress shirt and light beige slacks that he wore. He watched nervously for Laura to appear, although he appeared nonchalant to the guests who were there to witness their marriage.

As the last notes of the _Nocturne_ disappeared into the wind, Remington expected to hear the strains of the wedding march begin. He forgot to breathe for a moment as the first strains of Chopin's _Prelude in E Minor_ trickled across the air. He remembered all too well the night he had stood below the window of Laura's loft listening to her play the score on the piano he had given to her to try and replace the one that was lost when her house exploded. The fact that this was the music to which she chose to walk to him down the aisle meant more to him than she would ever know.

Remington's heart caught in his throat when he at last glimpsed Laura coming out the veranda's French doors on Marcos's arm. He knew the image of her would be etched into his heart forever. _My God, she is stunning… and she's mine_. He raised his head to the sky then closed his eyes. _I don't know what I did to deserve her, but Thank You._ Looking at her again, his eyes shone with pride and possessiveness.

Laura had chosen a wedding dress reminiscent of the old days of Hollywood glamour, knowing that her avid movie lover would approve. The white silk sheath clung to her slender waist and the gentle curve of her hips before flaring just slightly as it dropped to the floor. A generous slit that started mid-thigh and continued to the ankle, showcased her long graceful legs as she walked. The dress was held up with spaghetti straps encrusted with small stones that glittered like diamonds, and criss-crossed across her back – a back that was bare to her waist. She had pulled her hair to the side and clasped it in a stone encrusted barrette that matched the gown. In her hand she held three buds of gladiolus, tied together with a simple bow.

It was clear by the look on his face that she had chosen right. She didn't even realize her tongue had reached out and flicked her lips, as she took him in. He had outdone her again and she could not be more proud. After years of fighting to keep her heart from him, she had anticipated at a least a moment in which she would be tempted to turn on heel and flee. That she only wanted to reach his side, to immerse herself in his comforting presence told her that this was right.

When they reached the altar, Marcos turned Laura towards him and kissed her on both cheeks, then told her "It is my honor to give you to our Xenos, Laura". Her eyes tingled at his words, as he placed her hand in Remington's before walking over to sit with Elena.

"Friends and Family," Father Ioseph began…

The words slipped past Remington and Laura as they drank each other in.

"You're stunning," he said softly to her.

"Not nearly as stunning as you," she replied just as softly.

"…Laura and Remington have chosen to say their own vows," Father Ioseph, nodded towards her. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and slowly let it out. When she opened her eyes again, she gripped his hand tight in hers, drawing strength from him. Neither of them were prone to public recitations of the feelings; in fact, they were still finding their way on may such statements privately. To have all eyes upon them? She tremored for a second, then drew herself up strong, tipping her chin up in determination. Her amber eyes found his blue ones and held.

"Remington, when you walked into my life five years ago, I'd created a safe, secure and predictable life for myself. I knew what time I would get up each day, what time I would go to bed, and could tell you almost to the minute what would go on in between. Life had taught me well that to be respected you had to be predictable; to be valued you had to be dependable; and to be loved you had to lock the parts of yourself away that were neither dependable nor predictable. I had my job, my lists and I believed that was enough.

"When you entered my life you turned my world upside down. You challenged me to take risks, personally and professionally. You challenged me to trust even when all the evidence said not to. You challenged me to understand that sometimes doing something that on the face seemed wrong, was at its core right. You taught me to see past a person's surface, to find the person within. You taught me to see the intent, not the deed. You taught me to believe there are still heroes in the world, because I see the hero in you every day."

He smiled with stunned pleasure at her last sentence, and lifted her hand to kiss it before she continued on.

"You are, without a doubt, the greatest gift I've ever received. You're my partner, my best friend, and most of all, _agapi mou, zoi mou_."

He squeezed her hand at her recitation of the words that were engraved in their wedding bands.

"This is my promise to you: If I become afraid, I will not run from you but to you. When you're afraid, I'll open my arms and be your place of solace. When you need me to trust, I'll trust in you. When you need me to have faith, I'll believe in you. I'll stop taking unnecessary risks and remember that you need me to be safe. When life gets busy, I'll make time for us so we can continue to grow together. And above all, I'll remember that when things seem impossible, that life has taught me when we are joined together in a common goal _everything_ is possible."

Laura took a deep breath, and squeezed the hand that was holding hers as she had finished. She was inordinately pleased that she had made it through her vows without crying.

Father Ioseph turned to Remington. "Remington…"

He, much like Laura just had, took a deep breath and let it out. Then clearing his throat, he began.

"Laura, five years ago I walked into an office and was instantly captivated by a young woman, with beautiful brown eyes."

He smiled at her, then leaned down and kissed her on both eyes before continuing.

"Of course, you know the story as I have told you it before. As a matter of fact, I think you may have even been there."

He raised a brow at her. Laura laughed, as he had intended.

"Across these years, Laura, your eyes have been my compass in the brightest of days and the darkest of nights. I have experienced highs I have never known when you looked at me with faith and trust shining in your eyes. I have experienced lows that have taken me to my knees when I have seen doubt and disappointment cloud them. I have strove, across the years, often failing, to see the former reflected in those eyes and to change whatever was needed to avoid seeing the latter.

"You inspire me to be a better person Laura, to be the man you need by your side. Even when I have tested your trust, you have stood by me. When it seemed all the cards were stacked against me, you have stood by me when anyone else would have walked away. For a man that looks to acts as the true measure of a man, you have shown time and again I can trust you, with all that I have and all that I am. You are my beacon, my light… my home.

Laura lost the battle, smiling as a tear fell from her eye.

"This is my promise to you Laura: If you run when you're afraid, I'll find you and comfort you. I'll never consume you, but instead will encourage you to be the remarkable woman you already are. I'll come to you when I need help, and trust that you will stand by my side. I'll remember to dance with you under the stars when life gets in our way. When you cry I'll kiss away your tears and when we kiss I'll take your breath away. I'll remember that when we are together standing hand-in-hand, we can take on the world."

Remington reached out and took Laura's face in his shaking hands, then lowered his head and kissed her tears away before pressing his lips next to her ear.

"Is tumo chuisle mo chroí, mon anam cara, mo shíorghrá," he whispered, before brushing his lips across her cheek and taking a step back. She raised her brows to him, relatively certain that he'd spoken to her in Gaelic and that the words were of import, but his twinkling eyes told her she'd have to discover herself what that was. She shook her head at him, her eyes lighting up at his challenge, before they turned their heads to give Ioseph their full attention.

"Since it is your intention to enter into marriage, join your right hands, and declare your consent before God and his Church," Ioseph instructed. When Remington looked down at their already joined hands and lifted a brow towards the priest, light laughter from the guests floated on the air. At Ioseph's disapproving look, Remington grew serious and lifted his eyes to Laura's. At the slight terror reflected in his eyes, her lips twitched, but with great strength of will, she managed to keep a straight face.

"I, Remington Chalmers Steele, take you, Laura Elizabeth Holt, to be my wife. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life." He breathed out slowly between slightly parted lips when he finished his vows. His eyes glimmered when the laughter left Laura's eyes and instead asked silently – 'Are we really doing this.' A quirk of the corner of his lips assured her they were. With a slight shake of her head, she took a deep breath before speaking.

"I, Laura Elizabeth Holt, take you, Remington Chalmers Steele, to be my husband. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life." Her skin had flushed during her recitation of the words and she bit down softly on her lower lip upon their completion. The couple turned to Ioseph again.

"You have declared your consent before the Church. May the Lord in his goodness strengthen your consent and fill you both with his blessings. What God has joined, men must not divide." Remington's hand tightened even further over Laura's.

"Amen," came the response from the guests behind them.

"Lord, bless and consecrate Remington and Laura in their love for each other," Ioseph continued, now holding up his palm with Laura and Remington's wedding bands held in the palm. Remington looked from the rings to Laura in surprise as he would have sworn that morning it would take an act of God to separate her from her cherished wedding band. Seeing his surprise, she gave him a look that said – 'What choice did I have? The man's a priest for God's sake.' His eyes reflected his amusement, the same as her eyes did hers. "May these rings be a symbol of true faith in each other, and always remind them of their love. Through Christ our Lord." Ioseph nodded to Remington, who plucked Laura's ring from his palm.

"Laura, take this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity," he offered, as unsteady fingers slid the ring back onto her waiting finger. "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit." Her lips quivered for a second, before she took Remington's ring from Ioseph's hand. She picked up Remington's hand and waited until his eyes met hers.

"Remington, take this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity," she repeated as she slid the ring onto his finger. She paused, then lifted his hand to press her lips against his palm. "In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit." She let out a soft, stuttering breath when she'd completed the vow, drawing a smile from him.

"It is my pleasure, Xenos," Ioseph said, shedding the formality of the moment, "To pronounce you and your Laura husband and wife." He nodded to Remington with a smile. "You may kiss the bride."

Remington wagged his brows, then turned to Laura. Tipping her chin with a single finger, he stepped into her and brushed his lips softly over hers before settling fully upon them. Sparks trailed in the wake of contact, and his hands reached up to caress her cheeks while drawing her closer. They lost themselves in the kiss.

"Uh hem." Father Ioseph cleared his throat. At the sound, they broke off the kiss, Laura blushing furiously at the laughter from the audience while Remington shuffled around a bit on his feet then said "Yes, well then, uh, shall we Laura?" he asked, holding the crook of his elbow out to her. She smiled at him, then lay her hand on her arm, walking with him back down the aisle.

They were mobbed by members of the Androkus family as soon as they left the altar, pulled apart as they were hugged, kissed, slapped on the back and congratulated. Champagne and Ouzo flowed freely, music danced across the air and people laughed as they celebrated. They scanned the room for each other, wanting to be next to each other's side, eyes catching only to be torn away as someone new grabbed them in a hug.

They both let out a sigh of relief as a glass was tapped and it was announced it was time for their first dance as man and wife. They drifted towards one another, gratefully folding themselves into the other's arms on the dance floor. He brushed his lips against the top of her head as she sighed a contented little sigh.

"Have I told you tonight, Mrs. Steele, how lovely you are?" he asked, leaning down to press his lips near her ear.

Laura leaned back and smiled at him. "Yes," she answered simply before snuggling back into his embrace.

"Are you happy, Laura?" he asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear the words.

Laura leaned away and looked up at him again. Running her hand over his shoulder she hummed, before answering, "Very much so." His eyes grew a shade darker at her words. Tipping up her chin again, he leaned down and gently touch his lips against hers. A single hand slip up his chest and over his shoulder to finger the hair at his collar. She gasped softly and arched subtly into his touch, when the back of his fingers glided over the bare skin of her back, from neck to waist.

"I love it when you touch me like that," Laura whispered.

"And I cannot tell you how much I enjoy watching you respond to my every touch. To see you freely do so after all these years, is like touching a little bit of heaven," he waxed poetic, though meaning each word.

A jolt of electricity shot through her body for the second time that evening, setting every nerve ending on fire. Her pulse quickened, and the need to have him touch her, taste her, love her was overwhelming. She allowed a bit of the impulsivity that had chased away Wilson but was once a large part of her free, and shared the words with him, knowing it would drive his own desire through the ceiling. "I need you," she whispered so no one but Steele could hear. "I need to feel you touching me, tasting me. I need your hands on me. I need to feel you buried inside of me so deep that it feels like you're touching my heart."

Steele's blood roared through his body, his pulse quickening, his body hardening at her words. "I have a plan," he whispered.

"That's what you said last night," she laughed softly, before he crushed his mouth to hers then eased back ending the kiss with a brush of his lips, as their dance ended. "The question is, Mr. Steele, how long until you execute it?" She felt the tremor that passed through his body in response to the brush of her lips against his neck. She looked up into eyes burning white hot with desire, then laughed quietly as he almost desperately scanned the room for Marcos.

"Bloody well right now," he vowed. "Give me a moment with Marcos, love," he told her. Quickly brushing his lips across her cheek, he crossed the veranda to the older man.

"Marcos…" Remington began.

The older man let out a belly busting laugh, seeing the look on Remington's face. "Xenos, the sailboat is already waiting for you as we spoke of. Go…go love your Laura."

Remington reached out and hugged Marcos, slapping him on the back. "Thank you. Thank you for welcoming Laura with open arms. Thank you for giving me a place I can always think of as home. Thank you for all you've ever done for me, in case I've not said it before."

Marcos slapped Remington on the back several times, before grabbing his cheeks in his hands. "You have always been a son to me, Xenos, and now you have given me a new daughter as well." He kissed Remington on both his cheeks then released him with another gut splitting laugh. "Go now, and celebrate life with Laura. We will see you tomorrow. I will make your excuses for you."

Remington grinned then turned on his heel, taking a straight line to Laura – no angles this time. Without preamble, he took her hand from Mikos, and pulled her away with him, telling the other man, "Sorry, mate, but she's mine." Mikos laughed, as the two walked quickly away.

Holding tight to each other's hand, the young couple slipped into the inky darkness like two thieves in the night, making their escape.


	15. Chapter 15

_**Please note: This chapter has substantial NC-17 material in it. If you are under 18 or uncomfortable with such content, please move ahead to the next chapter.**_

* * *

Chapter 14: Honesty in Desire

Laura and Remington half-ran, half-walked down the stone pathway that would take them to the docks far below. Twice, he halted their progress to take her in his arms and kiss her senseless, enjoying the dazed look in her eyes when their lips would part. About a hundred yards from the dock, in the shadows of the path, he stopped their route for a third and final time. This time, he upped the ante, his hands roaming freely over a hip, a bottom, a waist, a breast, as his lips tasted, teased, enticed. He stopped only when he felt a tremor of deep need travel through her body as she gasped into his mouth. His own eyes smoky with the passion aroused by her response, he stepped away from her and tangling his fingers with her own, led her by her hand down to the boat.

Opting not to tack out the sails this evening, he propelled the boat by motor towards the open waters, before pointing the bow towards a cove he had in mind to anchor down at for the evening. It was only when they were free of the port that he realized he'd made a tactical error when heating his lovely wife's blood on their trip from house to dock, when she squeezed her body in between him and the wheel on the helm. After years of her reticence and inhibitions he still, on occasion, forgot that she'd allowed both to go up in smoke back at Ashford Castle after they'd first made love, despite how often she'd turned the tables on him since, leaving his body on fire for want of her.

Slipping Remington's suit jacket over his shoulders, Laura tossed it aside, his tie following quickly behind. Her talented fingers freed one button after another, while fingers and lips explored each newly bared patch of skin. She took her time in relieving him of his shirt, then once it joined his growing pile of clothes upon the desk took time to delight in causing his body to quiver under the light touch of her nails scraping across his skin, and in eliciting hard inhales of breath as her fingers danced through the hair on his chest. She looked up at him, her teeth worrying a bottom lip while a smile quirked at the corners of her mouth, and her molten amber eyes searched his intense blue ones. His arm gave a hard jerk to the wheel when her mouth sought the sensitive skin underneath his ear, wrenching a moan from him.

"Laura, I'm likely to capsize the boat if you keep _that_ up," he warned in a gravelly voice. She tilted her head back looking like all the vixen that she was, while flashing him a sultry little smile.

"You steer, Rem," she gave him a little wink. "I'll keep the motor primed." He groaned at her words, drawing a mirth filled laugh from her, then groaned again as her hands flitted across his abdomen to toy with the buckle at his belt. As her dexterous fingers began working his belt free, he said a small prayer of thanksgiving as the cove he had in mind came in sight. Still she gave a little laugh, when he yanked the wheel hard again as she skimmed a small hand beneath the waistband of his pants and briefs, to kneed the flesh of a firm cheek of a very sexy bum. Turning off the engine and flicking the button to drop the anchor, he grabbed her face, kissing her hard and deep. Their tongues teased, and danced, before she ended the kiss and slipped away from him.

Turning to face him, without preamble, Laura leaned over and grabbed the hem of her gown, sweeping it over her head and dropping it to the deck as well. Remington nearly swallowed his tongue as his eyes roamed over her nearly nude body, clad only in a pair of white, lace panties and while silk stockings.

"My God, Laura," he managed to get out, while taking two long strides to her, capturing her head in his hands again, then claiming her mouth in a ravenous kiss. He felt her smile against his mouth, even as she pulled down his zipper, then slid his pants and underwear over his hips. He kicked the clothing aside, his hands tangling in her hair, pressing against the back of her head, forcing her lips even more firmly against his. Her hand slipped between them, stroking him, moaning against his lips when she found him hard and ready under her light touch. Looping her arms around his neck, her fingers raked through his hair as she lifted a leg, wrapping it around him and rubbing softly against the back of a thigh in a hint. His hands left her head, and smoothed down her back before gripping a cheek of her bottom in each hand and lifting her upwards. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he took two steps forward, pressing her back against the window of the cabin.

Pulling her mouth free of his, her hands left his hair to clutch at his shoulders, while her mouth fed hungrily at the base of his neck. He fought to calm his reaction to her, his body raging with need yet his mind insisting that their wedding night should be remembered as an evening of drawn out romance. In an effort to slow his own rampaging desire, he smoothed his hands slowly over her back.

"Slow down, love, we have all night," he urged, his lips seeking hers again. She shook her head in answer.

"No," she answered him on heavy breath, her lips returning to that place under his ear to lave, to nibble, while she ground herself into him. "I'm not going to break. I'm not going to feel used. I need us to be as honest with each other in bed as we are out of it." She lifted passion saturated eyes to his, as her fingers scraped over a nipple on his chest. "I want you hard, fast," she murmured next to his ear. "Now," she insisted, as she lowered her mouth to that place where neck meets shoulder, and drew the skin firmly in her mouth.

"My God," he murmured, as a jolt of electricity course through his body in reaction to her suckling on his sensitive skin. "Then hold on, babe," he groaned, as a hand yanked free the flimsy lace separating them and tossed it aside.

Pressing her bottom against the cabin for support, with a definitive flick of his hips he buried himself in her in one long stroke. She gasped then cried out, a hand slapping against the window against which she leaned, then smiled as his mouth crushed hers, and he plundered her mouth while his body inside her stroked hard and fast. She shattered on the fourth, demanding stroke, calling out his name as her body clenched hard around him. He ground his teeth, riding her out, then wrapping his arms tight around her stumbled to the make shift bed on the bow, their bodies still connected.

He slid out of her, only long enough for them to lay down. He urged her to lay on her stomach then her a drew her hips up and towards him, shoving two pillows under her stomach before plunging himself back in to her depths. "Rem," she called out, her squirming bottom urging him to move. Stretching out over her, a hand slid between the mattress and her body, to find a breast, while his mouth began worshipping spatters of color on her shoulders. He thrust himself into her with hard, long strokes that left her grinding herself into him each time he was fully buried within her. He quickly pushed her up to the precipice again, barely holding onto his control when he felt her body tightening around him as her delectable little bottom twitched against his skin. This time when her climax broke, he let her take him with her, her body demandingly draining his body of his essence as he pulsed within her while calling out her name, his arm pulling her body against him so he could feel every nuance of their joint orgasms. He collapsed on top of her, both of them panting hard in the aftermath. She recovered first with a sultry little laugh from beneath him, a hand reaching back to caress his hair. Sliding out of her, he sat down, his hands urging her up. She moved to straddle his lap, her hand swiping at his sweaty brow before her hands buried themselves in his hair drawing his lips to hers.

"This time," he murmured when he ended the kiss to touch his lips along her cheeks, her forehead, eyes and nose, "we take it slow, Mrs. Steele. Very, very, slow." Maple brown eyes, looked at him, the love and satiated desire that shone in them causing pure pleasure to course through his body, leaving him quaking. Her eyes held his, as her fingers wandered along a neck, through the hair of a chest.

"Slow," she told him, pressing her lips against his as their eyes still held, "is good." Then touched her lips to his again. "Very, very good," she murmured. Leaning back, she stroked her hands through his hair. "I love you, Rem," she whispered.

"You can't imagine," he touched his lips to hers again, "How much I do you." Her hands clenched his shoulders as his lips moved against hers in a kiss so tender that it left body humming it its wake. The fingers of both hands traced his jaw, then moved to his cheeks, holding his face lightly.

"Make love with me, Rem," she requested, touching her lips to his again. A smile lifted his lips, as he folded himself forward, stretching them both out on the mattress.

"It would be my pleasure, love, my absolute pleasure," he murmured against her lips, as hand fluttered along her side, tracing a hip, a waist, her ribs. They lost themselves in each other.

* * *

In the wee hours of the morning, after another round of lovemaking followed by a dip in the sea, where they played and laughed, then a shower, Remington sat on the mattress, while Laura lay stretched out, her head in his lap. She held his hand in hers, tracing the palm and fingers, stopping often to stroke his wedding band. With a smile, he plucked another cube of cheese off the plate next to him and fed it to her. She had grown pensive across the last half hour, so he'd intentionally kept conversation light, discussing the mythology behind various constellations as he pointed each one out.

"Do you miss it?" she asked quietly, interrupting him. He looked down at her, puzzled.

"Miss what?" She shook her head.

"I've never asked, because I think I was afraid of the answer… or afraid that the question alone would make you realize that you did," she thought aloud. His fingers brushed through her hair.

"Miss what?" he repeated.

"Your old life. The heists. The challenges. The thrills. The adrenaline. The jet setting." She puffed out a breath. "Do you miss it?" If she'd expected a fast denial on her part, she would have found herself disappointed. Instead, he mulled his words carefully.

"I'd be lying if I said there were certain aspects of it that I didn't miss," he admitted with caution. "I enjoyed the heists, the recoveries themselves, and of course the rewards that often followed, immensely. I miss using the… skills… I acquired during that period of my life, although certainly I get to use them from time-to-time in our work." She nodded.

"And the rest?"

"The 'jet-setting' as you called it?" She nodded. He pursed his lips as he thought about it. "I won't pretend that it wasn't… difficult… during the first pair of years, not… moving on… when things between us were… strained. It's a habit I've had for a lifetime – leaving, starting again when things became… unpleasant where I was. I miss the… new experiences of each place that I landed. It's been… easier… these last two years as cases have taken us from place-to-place, although I'd have preferred time to enjoy where we were at, rather than it being just scenery we chased a suspect through." She nodded again.

"I can understand that," she said neutrally. He frowned down at her, knowing she had likely grasped onto something with that agile mind of hers, and was now overanalyzing whatever that might be while working herself into a dither. He brushed the backs of his fingers across a cheek.

"Talk to me, Laura. What's on your mind?" She glanced up at him, then returned her eyes to his hand. Pursing her lips, she remained quiet at length, then suddenly dropped his hand and pushed herself into a sitting position, facing him.

"Are you really ready for this?" she asked, her voice raising an octave at the question, as her hand flicked between the two of them. His lips twitched.

"If I weren't, don't you think it a bit too late to ask?" he mused. "It seems to me we're rather permanently bound to one another by this point." His humor drew a smile from her, before she turned her head and looked away from him.

"I didn't even think… until we were here tonight… It didn't occur to me…" giving up as she fumbled over the words, she let out a small growl of frustration. She pinched the bridge of her nose and looked upwards, then suddenly swept her arm out towards the sea. "This is what you've known almost your entire life: Greece, the Cote d'Azur, the British Isles, Monte Carlo, Venice, Amsterdam, Barelona, Rome… How does LA even begin to compete with all of it?" Remington scooted over until his bent knee touched her back. His fingers trailed through silken strands of her hair, before tracing the outline of her jaw.

"You forget that LA holds much more value to me than all of this," he reminded her quietly. "A place to call my own…" he touched his lips to her cheek "A profession in which I can not only utilize my, er, talents but allows me to work with a partner that never stops challenging me…" a brush against her jaw "Not to mention a wife that has mesmerized me since the day we met…" he trailed a series of light kisses down her neck, making her shiver. "Europe doesn't hold a candle to any of it. I've no desire to return here to live, unless the INS leaves us no choice."

His last words drew another shiver across her body, although not one created by pleasure. She spun to face him, then with practiced grace, slung a leg across him, straddling his lap. Remington's eyes skimmed over her, admiring, not for the first time on the evening, the white, lace corseted bodice, matching lace panties that left little to the imagination and a pair of garters holding up white silk stockings that ended mid-thigh. It only took a glance her way to set his blood on fire.

"See something you like?" she asked, flexing her fingers as she toyed with the hair on his chest. The back of his fingers skimmed over the skin left exposed by the deep v-neck of the lace bodice, as he hummed.

"I feel like a tyke in a candy store," he breathed. "Surrounded by treats and no idea which to taste first." Emphasizing his point, he closed his eyes and stroked her stocking clad leg from ankle to thigh. His body quaked at the sensation. He moaned when Laura suckled the sensitive skin underneath his ear.

"You know my theory when it comes to chocolate, Mr. Steele," she murmured, her mouth moving to nibble on his collarbone. "Indulge yourself and taste it all," she purred, then tugged the skin underneath her lips firmly into her mouth, enticing a deep groan from him.

"I believe I'll do just that, Mrs. Steele," he agreed on a rough voice, his hand stroking the flesh of her nearly bare bottom until she twitched in his arms. His hand slid under the back of the corset, urging her up on her knees. She threaded her fingers through his hair, smiling at him as his lips lifted to cover hers, then folded himself over her, until they lay upon the makeshift bed, he atop of her, and allowed themselves to get lost in rich sensations that rivaled the best chocolate on earth.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 15 : Endings

Remington and Laura departed Greece on Wednesday afternoon, with no little reluctance when they did. Elena smothered both of them with hugs and kisses, lamenting to one and all that the young man who was the child she'd loved as her own was leaving far too soon. Melina was far more dramatic, crying rivers and clinging to him, not releasing him until he'd vowed to return within the year. Zeth and Christos were far more stoic, though Christos's slaps against Remington's back as they hugged were far more exuberant than normal. Remington chuckled when Christos stepped forward to hug Laura, continually shuffling his feet to keep them as far from her own as possible, his toes still tender from when they'd danced.

Marcos was the last to bid them goodbye, hugging each of them tight and placing kisses on each of their cheeks. Gripping one of their hands in each of his, he offered only these words in parting: "Love each other hard and abidingly, and that love will carry you through your darkest of days as it has Elena and I. Take care of each other, my children." Eyes moist, Marcos dropped their hands and returned to the house without looking back.

They arrived in London during the late afternoon and by unspoken agreement stripped down and tumbled into bed together, settling in for a much needed nap after getting little sleep the night before. They roused themselves in early evening in order to shower and dress then dined at Simpson-in-the-Strand in a nod to an evening a year earlier when they dined there the night before they'd returned to LA when Laura had come to London to bring Remington home. That night their love making was especially tender, as both recognized that was Laura's determination to bring him home to her that had marked the true turning point in their relationship and what had ultimately led them to where they now were.

The next afternoon Laura watched with an aching heart as Remington slid into the persona of Paul Fabrini when he met with solicitor Callum Phillips to discuss his father's estate. That he'd done so unwittingly she knew was a testament to the deep well of grief that had been reopened in anticipation of the meeting. When they departed the solicitor's office, papers signed, they returned to the hotel where she enticed him into taking a hot bath with her. That he'd had to be cajoled into doing so, set off alarm bells in Laura's head, and she chewed fretfully on her lower lip wondering if he was going to slip headlong into depression as she had feared would be the case in Ireland.

In an abrupt about face to the manner in which they usually shared a tub, Laura climbed in first, then had Remington recline back against her. She concentrated on drawing him out the place to which he had retreated, through soft touches interspersed with a soapy cloth bathing his body. Eventually, as the water began to cool, he began speaking, relaying to her, haltingly, some of his memories of his struggles against Daniel's attempts to clean him up and set him right in those early years that they were together. Daniel had told her, that night she'd danced with him in Remington's apartment, about 'Harry' in those early days.

* * *

" _ **When I found him, he was an uneducated, unsophisticated - unwanted young man. Filled with hostility and violence."**_

* * *

She could admit now that she hadn't believed him then, yet Remington's own words were confirming what Daniel had told her those many years ago. Closing her eyes, as she ran the wash cloth over his shoulders, she felt no small amount of guilt. She'd spent years being furious at Daniel for turning the man lying against her now into, how had she put it?

* * *

" _ **And like any good father, you taught him how to be a consummate conman, a charming cheat..."**_

* * *

This had always been her largest problem with Daniel – _okay, second largest_ , she acknowledged to herself, _my first being his constant attempts to take Remington from me and drag him back into the life_ – that he'd taken a clearly bright, talented teenager and steered him towards a life of connivery and crime.

"I doubt very much that I'd be alive today, Laura," he confessed now, "had it not been for him. Certainly, I wouldn't be here now, with you, for you'd have wanted nothing to do with me from the start had Daniel not forced the lessons, decorum, his codes upon me."

"I don't believe that," she told him quietly. "Your compassion, your protectiveness, your sense of justice, your," she scrunched her nose up, knowing he'd dislike the word, "gentleness, are all innately you. I think you would have come into them on your own one day." He shook his head in disagreement.

"I was so bloody tired by time Daniel came along. Tired of being hungry all the time, tired of eating scraps not fit for a dog let alone a human being. I was sick of sleeping upon the streets, tucked into a doorway here or an abandoned building there," he explained. "I wasn't exaggerating when I told you that someone was likely to put a knife in your back just to get hold of your shoes. Brixton was filled with violence, people desperate to survive. I was bloody well furious with the hand I'd been dealt by then, and cared little of who I crossed in anger. Yet, I didn't have it in me to kill, even to survive. I would have been dead, more likely than not, before I'd reached age fifteen."

He fell silent, for which she said a silent prayer of thanks, as she blinked her eyes against threatening tears. He'd painted a vivid portrait for her, and she could envision him lying dead on a cold pavement, buried, as he'd lived, with no name, no one to care that he was gone. As she won the battle against the threatening tears, rage seeped into her bones. Rage against a system that had allowed him to be victimized, then forgotten. Rage against a government and Church that had conspired to sell impoverished children for a profit, pitching some, like Remington, in to hell.

When the water had cooled sufficiently to no longer be relaxing, they climbed out, and dressed – he in pajama pants, she in the matching shirt – for the second time in two days, agreeing on the trajectory of their day without words. Laura picked up the phone and ordered a light dinner for them, which was eaten in near silence. Once she'd slid the room service cart into the hallway, she climbed up into bed next to him and flicked on the television, searching for something to watch, pleased when she found a showing of _Vertigo_ (James Stewart, Kim Novak, Alfred Hitchcock Productions, 1958) knowing he'd either enjoy the movie or allow himself to get lost in it, quelling his thoughts for a while. Nudging him to lay crosswise on the bed, she spooned herself into him, then wrapped his arm around her, lacing her fingers with his and tucking his hand up between her breasts. Midway through the movie, his breathing had become slow and steady, leading her to suspect he'd fallen asleep. She started slightly when some minutes later he spoke.

"I was cruel to him, Laura. After all he'd done for me, I hadn't the ability to be … decent… to him when he told me what he was to me," his voice had turned gravelly, riddled with guilt. "I took the watch, slung it at him… _hit_ him with it. He simply stood there and took what I handed out. Had Mildred not convinced me to go back, those would have been our last words, my last action…" He took a deep, ragged breath, the words trailing off into silence. Wriggling herself around to face him, she lay a hand on his cheek and rubbed a thumb soothingly from cheek to jaw.

"But you did go back, and those weren't your last words or last action," she reminded him. She stroked the lock of hair off his forehead, her voice softening even further. "Rem, you don't have a cruel bone in your body. Daniel knew that." She touched her lips against his, sliding her hand over his shoulder to lay on his chest over his heart. "He knew your heart doesn't allow you _not_ to forgive the people you love. He only had to wait you out, and he did." Remington tipped his head down to lay his forehead again hers and closed his eyes. She felt his slight nod after several moments, then as the tension that held his body taut throughout the afternoon slowly began to drain away.

"I've had enough, Laura," he sighed, rolling to his back, ran a hand through his hair. "I can't be here…" he struggled to find the words. "I don't have it in me to… I want to go…" She turned to him, propping herself up on an elbow to look down at him.

"Home?" she asked quietly. He let out a puff of air, the sought her eyes with his own and nodded. "And Daniel's townhouse?" He scrubbed a hand across his face as pain slashed through his eyes.

"I'll find someone to do it for us," he offered with a shake of his head. She nodded then moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Opening the bedside table, she reached for the telephone directory. In quick order, she'd contacted PanAm Airlines and arranged their passage back to LA for the following morning. He watched her as he stood and lay back the covers on the bed, before reclining against the headboard. _Ah, Laura_ , _putting my world back in order, once more,_ he thought to himself.

Instead of stretching out across Remington's lap as she normally would at this point in the evening, Laura climbed between his legs to recline back against him, drawing an arm around her, before claiming his other hand in hers. They settled in to watch the second part of an apparent Stewart marathon, _The Man Who Knew Too Much_ (James Stewart, Doris Day, Paramount, 1956) in companionable silence interspersed with the occasional nuzzle of a whiskered cheek against a neck, or a pair of lips glancing over a palm. As the movie ended, he lifted her left hand in his, rubbing his finger over her wedding band. The corners of her lips lifted, when some minutes later he still contented himself only to watch her hand, to massage her finger and ring.

"Something on your mind?" she asked. She felt his quick, deep breath as he broke out free of whatever thought had seized his attention.

"Mmmm," he hummed. "Do you recall your question on the boat? If I were sure…" she nodded her head.

"I do." Lifting her hand over her shoulder he brushed his lips over the ring.

"This… tonight… us simply together watching a movie… you lying in my arms? I could do this every evening for the rest of my life… happily." he told her quietly. "I meant what I said... at the Spa… about before…" he trailed off when her hand began stroking the arm still wrapped around her, losing herself briefly in the memory of the words he'd spoken that day.

* * *

 _ **"Before, I didn't know where I'd be next day- or with whom. Didn't really matter, though. I always liked it like that. But then it all changed the day I met you."**_

* * *

"It's a lonely life, Laura, giving only the smallest measure of trust to a couple of people in your life, knowing even they will likely betray you if their necks ever came to be on the line. Felicia certainly has… on more than one occasion." His thumb massaged over her ring again, as she held still, afraid even the slightest of movements would force him into silence, recognizing that whatever he was working towards, would once again change their course in some small measure.

"You'd no reason to give me even the smallest measure of trust, coming into your life in the manner I did. Yet, with only your instincts about me to guide you, you allowed me the opportunity to exonerate myself of the murder of Pearson, earning my absolute trust in that act alone… Certainly something no one in my life before had managed to do…" Laying her hand back down, his hand moved to finger a tendril of her hair. He breathed deeply, his words taking a toll, as they always did when talk of his emotions was involved. "You saw me, Laura. Not the thief, nor the con artist," he shifted uncomfortably behind her, before the next admission, "… nor merely how I… look." He stroked his fingers through her tresses. "Just as I saw you. We both knew, I think, that neither of us would ever be alone again so long as the other was near."

He paused at length, remembering the look on Laura's face the day he'd gotten into the taxi, prepared to follow the Lavulite to San Francisco. It was that look, the pang of regret, the loneliness he'd seen in her eyes, that had made him turn around, more so than anything else. Threading her fingers through the fingers of his hand at her waist, she spoke carefully, as neutrally as she could.

"I think you're right." The admission was as difficult for her to make as it was for him. The slight tremor she felt in the hand held in hers made the confession well-worth its discomfiture, as did the touch of his lips against the back of her neck in response.

"I've waited for four years for you to claim me as your own… to know you were mine, as well, without reservation." His hands grasped her hips, urging her to turn towards him. When she'd settled on his lap, he brushed her hair over her shoulders, before gently grasping either side of her neck, and drawing her lips to his. "I'm more than ready for this, Laura," he told her, brushing his lips over hers. "I can't remember ever wanting anything more." His lips settled over hers as her hands tangled in his hair. Wrapping his arms around her, he turned until she lay on her back on the bed, his body covering hers.

"What am I going to do with you?" she asked softly, swiping the hair off his forehead, before stroking her fingers along a jaw. He looked down at her, the good humor she adored returning to his eyes, and wagged his brows at her, wiping away the serious air that had settled around them most of the evening.

"I think you know," he smiled, before touching his lips to hers again.

"I do," she nodded, a smile playing across her lips as well. "And I will. Would you like me to elaborate, Mr. Steele?" she asked with a husky voice, her hands on the back of his head urging him to return his lips to hers.

"By all means, Mrs. Steele," he answered, his lips hovering over hers. "By all means."


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 16: Homecoming

The Steele's followed their normal traditions the next morning once boarding the plane for home. The non-stop flight would take just under fourteen hours by the time check-in at one airport and baggage collection at the other was considered. Their flight departed at 8:00 am London time, which had them rising at 5:30 to pack, travel to Heathrow, check-in and board on time. By 9:15 am, the plane was already on the transatlantic portion of its flight and the newlyweds had settled in – Laura with her crossword puzzle and Remington flipping through magazines that held little interest for him on this morning.

By 10:30 am, the arm rest had been raised, and the couple made themselves comfortable watching a rather eclectic double feature on the movie screen in front of them: _A View to a Kill_ (Roger Moore, Tanya Roberts, Eon Productions, 1985) followed by _Out of Africa_ (Robert Redford, Meryl Streep, Mirage, 1985). Remington was in top form espousing the virtues of Sean Connery over Roger Moore as James Bond, at once point clucking that even he would make a more dashing and convincing spy than the latter, receiving an eye roll from Laura for his troubles. He was even worse during the viewing of Out of Africa, deeming it overly-sentimental, terribly contrived, and the scenes surrounding Streep's contraction of a venereal disease from her husband as a completely unnecessary and crass plot device. His wife finally tuned out his complaints, closing her eyes and snuggling in to him for their traditional mid-flight nap, earning her a look of indignation from him, as he muttered that his vast cinematic knowledge should render his opinions as valid criticism. That same wife just patted his hand, clearly humoring him. Deciding to forgive her impertinence for the moment, Remington gathered Laura close, bussing her forehead, before allowing himself to fall asleep as well.

When Laura woke about thirty minutes prior to landing, she was more than a bit surprised to find Remington already awake as it certainly flew in the face of the norm. It took her sleep drugged mind a fast minute to recognize the tension in his body, and a few more seconds after that to put together the fact that he'd been clearly awake and watching her for some time, based on the shredded thumbnail that he was still worrying with his teeth. She took moment to allow her brain to kick into gear, while concurrently flogging herself for sleeping the flight away while he had clearly been working himself into a state of anxiety over their impending arrival in LA. With a mental shake of her head, she sat up and turned in her seat to face him, grasping his hand in hers and easing it away from his mouth towards her lap.

"While I find you quite tasty myself, I'm fairly sure the stewardess could have been convinced to give you a snack if you were hungry, Mr. Steele," she deadpanned. His brows drew together while he looked at her as though she'd suddenly sprouted a second head, then several seconds later her joke registered in his mind and he gave a half-hearted chuckle. With a small sigh, she set aside any attempts to relax him through levity and dealt with the issue head on. "Everything's going to be fine, Remington." He gave his head a sharp shake, then reclaimed his hand to swipe hard at his hair.

"You don't know that, Laura. For all you know, the INS will be waiting for us when we arrive…" She blew out a short, aggravated huff of air, stopping him in mid-sentence.

"Think about what you're saying. I made the reservations less than 10 hours before we stepped on this plane. The INS has no idea that we're on our way home. The very worst thing we might find is that your passport has been flagged, and if that's the case, we'll have time to get an attorney over there and buy us some time. We already have enough trouble to deal with as far as the INS is concerned. Don't borrow more." He rubbed his hand across his mouth, looking for holes to punch in her logic and seized on the only one he could conjure up.

"Roselli…" he began, only to find her interrupting him again.

"Stop," she told him firmly, holding her hand up at the same time. "He's already tainted the first half of our honeymoon, I won't let him have this part too. Can you just try to believe that everything will be okay?" With a shake of her head, she lifted her hand to rub at her brow. He grew instantly contrite at her action, and this time it was he that took her hand and lowered it down, brushing his lips against the back of her knuckles.

"You're right," he told her, forcing himself to tamp down his fears for her sake, if nothing else. "Would you mind turning your head towards business for a little bit? I've something I'd like to introduce to the agency, if, of course, you're on board."

"I'm sorry, I must have misunderstood. _You_ want to discuss business? While we're technically still on vacation? On our way home from our _honeymoon_?"

"Boggles one's mind, I agree. But yes, if you don't mind." She stared at him.

"I don't even know what to say…"

"Lauraaaaaa," he drew out her name warningly. She laughed then gave him her full attention.

"Alright, what's this idea?"

"Well…" he began...

* * *

"Welcome home, Mr. and Mrs. Steele. I hope your honeymoon was enjoyable," Fred greeted them at the terminal curb at LAX. Despite Remington's fears, their arrival home had been incident free. His relief was palpable, and Laura gave his hand a quick squeeze letting him know that she shared in the feeling.

"Most enjoyable, Fred," Remington answered, his eyes wandering over his wife's slim body, his lips quirking at a particular memory involving white lace lingerie and a pair of silk stockings clinging to a pair of stunning legs. Laura flushed, having an idea where his mind had traveled, and swatted at his arm.

"Paybacks, Mr. Steele," she reminded him in an undertone.

Fred chuckled to himself, watching the interplay between the couple. He'd been privy to their romance for years, a decent portion of it unfolding in the backseat of the limousine as he drove them throughout LA. He was inordinately fond of both of them, perhaps an odd sentiment for an employee, but true none the less. He'd been concerned when he had dropped them off at the airport a few weeks back, as the tension between them had charged the air around them. Seeing them now, it was clear they had worked out whatever was and as he'd taken the luggage from Mr. Steele's he couldn't miss the wedding band on display. He hummed a happy little tune to himself as he shut the trunk then moved the limo to slide into the driver's seat.

"I cannot believe we got on a flight in London at 8:00 this morning and it's barely past 8:30 here now," Laura commented to Remington as he handed her into the car. "All these times changes are hard to keep track of." He hummed acknowledgment of her point as he slid into the backseat next to her and closed the door behind him.

"You get used to it after a while. But for now, I'm just enjoying the smell of the LA smog. It's nice to be back home." She laughed at the absurdity of anyone missing the smell of the smog.

"Is your wanderlust petering off?"

"Let's just say I have learned to appreciate finding new adventures in the same place," he smiled, as he lowered his head for a taste of her lips.

Fred turned around in his seat. "Where to folks?" he asked, thinking nothing of them interrupting them, drawing a chuckle from Remington even as his lips remained on top of Laura's. When she pressed a hand lightly against his chest, he reluctantly ended the kiss and turned to the chauffer.

"Quick stop at the store and then to the office, Fred."

"Yes, Mr. Steele."

One stop and an hour later, they stepped out of the elevator on the eleventh floor of Century Plaza. With a conspiratorial glance at one another, he held open the office door for her to precede him. Strolling through the reception area, she called a casual good morning to Mildred while heading directly for her office, he following shortly behind. With a rap of his knuckles on Mildred's desk, he called out his traditional, "Morning, morning, morning," while walking towards his own office.

Mildred jumped up from her chair, a wide smile crossing her face and came around the desk. "Mrs. Steele. Mr. Steele. What are you doing back so soon," she cried gleefully rushing to hug first Laura then Remington. "Is everything okay?

"Everything's fine, Mildred," Laura replied brightly, assuring Mildred with a smile. "Our business in Europe was concluded so we decided to come home early and get a few things settled here."

"If I'd known you were coming home today, I could have moved some of your Monday appointments to this afternoon, lightening the load on Monday," Mildred scolded lightly.

"Ahhh, precisely why we didn't say anything," Remington told her. "Mrs. Steele and I won't be returning to the office today. Rather, we've just stopped by to have a little… staff meeting. Do you have any appointments scheduled this morning?"

Mildred shook her head. "No, I was just going to work on the company accounts today."

"Good, good," he replied. "Then if you wouldn't mind, why don't you make us all some tea, then lock up the front door and meet us in my office."

"Will do, Chief," Mildred told him, giving him a mock salute. "I'm so glad you kids are back. I've missed you."

"We've missed you too, Mildred," Laura told her. "See you in a few."

Laura followed Remington into his office then shut the door behind them. As she continued towards the desk, he reached out and grabbed her hand, dragging her back to him, then slung his arms casually across her hips to link behind her back, as Laura's own arms instinctively mimicked his. She was surprised to see his mood was serious, contemplative, as opposed to playful as the casual air with which he'd swung her into his arms suggested.

"A lot of things have changed since we were last here, Laura. Still happy now that reality has begun to intrude upon our little piece of Utopia?" Sliding her hands up his chest, she wrapped her arms loosely around his neck and tilted her head slightly to the side, considering him carefully. She concluded that she shouldn't be surprised at his sudden pique of nerves, given her rather abrupt about face when they'd return to LA from Mexico. Her fingers toyed with the ends of his hair at his collar.

"I am. That's not going to change just because we're home, Mr. Steele," she assured him. His eyes lit up and crinkled at the corners with the smile that graced his face at her words. He shuffled his feet, drawing her further into his arms, leaning his head down towards hers.

"Would you care to elaborate, Mrs. Steele?" he hummed. Her fingers threaded through his hair, pressing him closer to her as she tilted her head up to touch her lips against his.

"Well, we are alone," she agreed in a sultry voice. His hand slid up her back to entwine in her hair, as he lowered his lips fully over hers, caressing her bottom lip, before deepening the kiss, urging her mouth to open…

"Door's locked, tea's ready…"Mildred announced as she opened the door and walked in. Remington broke off the kiss, both of them turning to look a Mildred.

"You were saying," he muttered to Laura under his breath, as she heaved a sigh of frustration.

"Oh, I'm sorry Boss, Miss Holt… I mean Mrs. Steele… I mean Holt-Steele," Mildred fumbled, although the grin on her face said she was not in the least bit sorry to see them in a clinch.

"That's quite alright Mildred," Laura said with forced cheer, extracting herself from his arms to his clear disappointment. "Why don't we get this meeting started?" Remington grumbled under his breath for a moment about lost opportunities and the need for locks then walked over to sit on the couch near Laura while Mildred took the chair catty-corner to them.

"So, Mildred," Laura began, clapping her hands together, "Mr. Steele and I have talked at length about the agency, and have decided we will be employing some changes. Mr. Steele, do you want to start?"

"Uh, yes," Remington began, clearing his throat before he began while removing three small boxes from his jacket pockets and setting them on the table between all of them. "First off, Miss Holt and I have come to an agreement that we all must become more vigilant about communication and safety. To that end, I've made arrangements to have mobile phones installed into both the Rabbit and the Auburn and each of us will begin carrying one of these." He handed Mildred one of the boxes. Opening it she looked at the small device in her hand, clearly perplexed.

"A beeper?"

"Serves dual purposes," he supplied. "First, it allows us to reach one another when needed…"

"And the second?"

"It prevents us from running off on our own, placing our safety at risk, claiming we had no way to reach each other."

"Keeping each other in check, I see," Mildred commented with a knowing laugh.

"We're not the only two parties guilty of that, now are we Mildred?" giving her a pointed look.

She opened her mouth to deny the charge, then thought about it as a blush rose on her cheeks. She hung her head and shook it before replying, "No."

"Now, on to the second matter," Laura announced, taking the floor back. "From now on we're going to set some very clear boundaries between work hours and personal hours. I'll be hiring an answering service this afternoon, who will take charge of the phones from the hours of 6 p.m. until 8 a.m. as well as the entirety of weekends. They'll be instructed that except in the case of a _grave emergency_ , none of us are to be disturbed during those hours. We'll still conduct business during those hours when a case requires us to do so, but otherwise there'll no longer be late night phone calls or drop-bys. Our personal time is our personal time. We're all entitled to that. Understood?"

Mildred nodded, a small, knowing smirk, tweaking the edges of her lips. Remington took notice of it and did a double take, and shifted awkwardly in his seat, for some reason feeling like his mum had just found him with a girl in his bedroom. That his wife was looking at him in amusement having easily read his thoughts on the matter served to settle a flush over his skin, only increasing her mirth. Looking away from her, he cleared his throat to speak again.

"Finally," Remington stepped back in, "There's the matter of how Mrs. Steele and I will refer to one another with clients or while we work on a case. She'll be referred to as Miss Holt, meaning we will not be referring to her as my wife or Mrs. Holt-Steele. Those monikers belong to our personal life, not professional, so will remain separate. Additionally, she will continue to address me as Mr. Steele, as she always has. We want our professional abilities to be the focus for the clients, not our marital status."

"One more thing," Laura said, before they wrapped up, surprising Remington as they had carefully set out the three changes that would occur while they were flying back from London. "If I have to hear one more round, from anyone, of 'Holt…Steele…Holt-Steele' I may lose my mind. While I am Laura Holt here at the office, at any other time I am Laura Steele, or Mrs. Steele. But no more of this 'Holt-Steele' nonsense, got it?"

Mildred beamed. "Good for you, honey!"

Laura turned to look at Remington to see how he was handling this ad lib addition to their list. She needn't have wondered, for as soon as she turned his way his hands shot out to grab either side of her face and pull her towards him for a firm kiss. When he released her, she smiled at him, tickled by his reaction to her decision. Standing, he held out a hand to her, helping her up from the couch, then turned to Mildred and informed her, "Mrs. Steele and I will be back in the office on Monday. Now, we're heading to the loft to pick up her remaining clothes and whatever else she needs, and will spend the rest of the weekend settling into the apartment. Are you ready Mrs. Steele?"

She grinned at him and nodded. "Let's go home, Mr. Steele."

* * *

"Ninety-six messages? _Ninety-six?!_ " Laura groaned, staring at the number on her answering machine. "You'd think we've been gone a year. And why didn't they try the agency?" Remington glanced down at her from where he was in the bedroom, an amused smile dancing across the lips as she continued to stand staring down at the answering machine, dumbfounded.

"A simple little push of that button that says 'play,' love, will give you the answer to those questions," he pointed out, opening up the top drawer of her dresser to empty the contents in the open suitcase lying on the bed. His brows arched with a bit of unholy glee when he realized he was free to dabble with his wife's undergarments at will. Picking up a pair of very tiny, red lace and silk panties from the drawer, he glanced downstairs at her then grinned approvingly, tossing them into the suitcase. Reaching into the drawer he next pulled out a sensible pair of white cotton bikini underwear, that she usually tossed on under her jogging shorts. Frowning at these, he surreptitiously dropped them in the trash can next to the dresser.

Laura watched from below, shaking her head and laughing at him. "What are you doing?" she called to him, pretending to be stern.

Remington shuffled his feet knowing he'd been caught with his hand in the till, so to speak. Plastering an innocent look on his face, he called back with a grin, "Uh, packing of course."

"Funny, I wasn't aware the trashcan doubled as a suitcase."

"Uh, yeah, right, well, uh…"

"Stop perusing and weeding out. Just pack it all. Don't worry, Rem, there is plenty of lace and silk in your future." Tilting her head, she mulled a thought then acted on it. "You can lose all my pantyhose though, if you don't mind. I've developed a sudden… fondness… for stockings." He gulped, nearly swallowing his tongue at her words.

"Even at the office?" he managed to get out. She laughed lightly.

"Even there," she answered breezily, then watched as he tugged at an ear while perusing her legs. He turned away muttering to himself about never getting any work done now, when he'd be spending all his time thinking about silk stockings and glorious legs. Laura turned away from him smiling, and hit the play button on the answering machine.

" _Laura, it's your mother. Laura, is there something you need to tell me…."_

She groaned, skipping the rest of the message to move on to the next.

" _Laura, it's Frances. There's an announcement in the paper this morning that says you and Mr. Steele were married last week. Is it true? I called mother and she knew nothing about it…"_

Wincing, she hit skip again.

" _Laura, it's your mother again. It's bad enough you didn't invite your sister or I to your wedding, but the least you could do is return my calls…"_

Panic settling in, she hit the skip button several times.

" _Laura, it's Donald. Your mother and Frances are making me crazy. Can you please call them? By the way, congratulations."_

Out of desperation she skipped to the last of the messages, sure that all ninety-six messages couldn't really be from her mother and Frances.

" _Laura, it's your mother…again. Your secretary tells me you and Mr. Steele will be back on Monday. Since you won't answer my calls, I see I have no choice but to come out there. My flight gets in at four. I'll be expecting you at Frances' house for dinner at six sharp. Really, Laura, I'm disappointed in you."_

She dropped her head in her hands, shaking her head. "Ohhhhhhhh, noooooooooo," she groaned out loud.

Remington had been leaning on the railing surrounding her bedroom watching the phone calls as they unfolded and her reaction to them. Laughing, he teased, "Really, Laura, I can't believe you haven't told Abigail that we've wed… twice now, at that."

"Ohhhhh, nooooo," she groaned again, realizing that as upset as her mother was with her over hearing about her first wedding from a newspaper clipping, Abigail and Frances were completely unaware there was a second wedding they had also missed.

"Don't worry, love, you'll get it all straightened out at dinner," he assured her.

She spun on her heel and glared at him. "If you _think_ ," she told him with a firm voice, "that I'm going to that dinner _alone_ … that, that, that, _I'm_ the one that is going to make _all_ the explanations, you are _seriously_ mistaken, Remington Chalmers Steele. So I'd suggest _you_ start thinking of an adequate explanation, because if you _think_ my mother is going to take 'we got married on a fishing trawler to keep my boss from being deported' well, you don't know her _at all_."

Nearly growling, she yanked up the receiver to the phone and punched in Abigail's phone number.

"Mother, it's Laura…I know Mother, I'm sorry…I've been out of the country, I didn't realize you had been calling…" She closed her eyes and winced visibly. "You're right, Mother, that's no excuse… You really don't need to come all the way out here…" Scrunching her eyes closed, a hand moved to her brow and began to knead. "No, I'm not trying to tell you what you do and do not need to do, Mother…" She looked up, surprised to find Remington standing behind her. His hands reached for her shoulders and began to massage. She flashed him a grateful look, as Abigail continued to rant a her. "I wasn't trying to be disrespectful… Well I'm not quitting, Mother…" He felt her tremble underneath his hands "He knows I can't coo-… It doesn't matter to - … I realize I'm not Frances, Mother… He's not a fish… " Her voice grew sharp on those words, but the hand at her brow clearly showed her anxiety was still climbing. "But… Well… Fine, Mother, I'll see you at six sharp Monday evening…Yes, he's right here...Hold on…" She turned and handed him the phone.

"Mother would like to speak with you," she told him, resignedly, before turning to collapse on the couch, her head in her hands, her fingers working at her temples trying to relieve the sudden headache. He glanced at her, before focusing his attention on the phone in his hand.

"Abigail…" he greeted Laura's mother enthusiastically as he always had. "Uh, my apologies, I meant no disrespect Abigail… With all due respect, Abigail, I don't think steal is quite appropriate… No, ma'am, I'm not back talking… Abigail, I _assure_ you… I wasn't trying to make excuses… Yes, yes we will see you at dinner Monday night." He hung up the phone, staring at it for a long moment, stunned.

"Not so funny when that shoe is on the other foot, is it?" she asked, her voice tight.

"Has a rather nasty pinch, actually," he agreed, then moved to join her on the couch. She stood up abruptly and returned to the phone to make another call.

"Mildred, I need you to cancel any appointments after three on Monday…. Yes, I understand they've been waiting a while for an appointment but they'll have to wait a while longer. Mr. Steele and I have been, ummm, invited to a dinner in Tarzana Monday night… Yes, I'll explain it all later…Thank you Mildred."

With a sigh, she stood still for a moment, closing her eyes and laying the back of a hand against her forehead. Then, with a shake of her head, she climbed the stairs up to her bedroom, Remington following closely in her wake. Opening the closet doors only wrenched another aggravated sigh from her.

"We're going to have a storage problem. There's no way all my clothes and yours can fit into two closets and a single dresser." His hands cradled her hips urging her to turn around. He caressed a check with a thumb.

"It's all going to work out, Laura. Your mother adores me. After she finishes lambasting us, she'll be thrilled." She looked at him doubtfully then pressed the back of hand to forehead again, turning her head away.

"Just one more thing on her list of all the ways Laura has failed her," she told him in a strained voice and with a small shake of the head. She slipped out of his arms, returning her attention to their clothing predicament. "If I left all my winter clothes here, and brought yours over, then we should have enough space at your apartment." She hesitated, unsure of how he'd feel about his belongings not staying where they'd always been: his home. "Is that alright?" Behind her, his eyebrows furrowed at what sounded to him like Laura asking permission.

"Of course," he answered neutrally as possible.

They packed up Laura's clothes side-by-side while reminiscing about their time spent in the loft over the years. If she was aware of the curious glances he sent her way from time-to-time, she gave no indication.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 17 – Revealing Demons

Laura and Remington stood in stunned silence inside the front door of his apartment. Every surface in the living room, dining room and entryway was covered with stacks of boxes – couch, coffee table, entry way table, dining room table, chairs – not to mention tucked under windows and along walls. Once they overcame their initial shock, they split up and began reading the return addresses on the packages.

"Wedding presents," Laura with tired shake of her head. "What are we going to _do_ with all of this?"

"Open them?" he suggested, lips twitching. Laura grinned back at him ruefully.

"Later," she told him with a definitive nod of her head. "Right now we need to get together whatever we're planning to send with Fred back to the loft," she told him, heading into the bedroom as he wandered to the kitchen to assess the damage there. He breathed a sigh of relief at finding not a present in sight within his domain even as her growl of frustration resonated across the apartment from the bedroom. Entering the bedroom his lips quirked as he noted that every surface in here was covered as well: Night stands, dresser, bed and chairs.

As in the loft, they worked side-by-side: Remington pulling a considerable collection of coats, sweaters and winter weight pants and suits from the closet, piling them on top of the boxes on the bed while Laura began clearing surfaces of presents, stacking them along the empty wall and under the window. In short order he had hangers banded together and plastic covering each stack. _Only he would have dry cleaning bags ready and available,_ Laura thought to herself. After a quick call down to Fred, he moved to the second closet, and began removing his clothes from it and transferring them to the first closet. She cocked her head in surprise, seeing her clothes neatly hung in the closet and not laying on the floor as last she'd seen them following the broken rod incident.

"When did you get the rod fixed?" she wondered aloud. He looked at the rod, then back at her, giving a tug to his ear.

"Ah, had maintenance come up the following morning and take care of that," he answered with enough discomfort for her to realize he didn't want to remember the night she'd kissed Roselli here in the apartment then took off to the beach with the man. The familiar guilt niggled at her and she averted her eyes. She began removing boxes off the bed while he went to answer the ring of the doorbell, garments in hand.

In short order he returned, grabbing several boxes from the bed and kneeling beside her to stack them. His brow rose in amusement when her stomach made its presence known. With a glance at his watch, he realized it was nearly 10:30 in the evening London time. They had each had a croissant and jam with their tea that morning, and had not eaten again since. Standing, he reached for the phone.

"Claude, please… Remington Steele… Claude, how are you mate?... Yes, thank you… Very happy, yes… Aye, you did call it all those years back… Claude, do you think you could have the chef whip us up a little something - … That's not necessary, I'll have Fred swing 'round and grab it… Yes, I'll tell her… I appreciate it mate."

Disconnecting the call, he dialed a second number. "Fred, Claude is having something put together for Mrs. Steele and I. I need you to run by and pick it up… Thanks, mate. See you soon."

Hanging up the phone, Remington grabbed another stack of boxes and moved to join Laura on the floor once more. "Claude sends his congratulations to you for finally making an honest man out of me."

Laura laughed. "And the part about 'you called it all those years back'?" she asked curiously.

"Ahhh, paying attention were you?" he asked with a smile. "Remember the first night we ate there, during the Dillon case, when I had you meet me so we could discuss Wallace?"

"Of course."

"Claude made it clear that night that you far outshone any other woman I'd brought there previously, and that I'd be a fool to let you go."

Both of their heads turned as the buzzer sounded at the front door. She shrugged, clearly not expecting anyone and returned to clearing off the bed. Standing, he went to answer the door, having a good idea of who might be waiting.

"Monroe," Remington greeted the man enthusiastically, giving him a smack on the shoulder, then inviting him in. "All done then are you?"

"Phones have been installed as you asked, mon ami, and the boys..." he nodded towards the doorway, "have arrived with the bachelor's chest as requested. Where do you wish them to place it?" Remington scratched at his chin, then grinned.

"Bedroom's to the left. Ask Mrs. Steele where she'd like it," he told them. Opening the drawer in the entry way table, he pulled out his checkbook and pen, propping the checkbook up on a pile of a boxes. "What do I owe you?"

"It's on the house, Mick. Consider it my wedding present to you and Laura. She hasn't regained her sanity and left you already?" Monroe joked.

"Not a chance, but we both know he can only walk a straight line for so long," Laura laughed, walking up behind Monroe. Monroe turned and grabbed her up into a bear hug, lifting her off of her feet.

"I cannot express to you how happy I was when I found you had finally let him catch you," Monroe told her.

"I think we caught each other," she told him, beaming. Of all of the people she'd met that had been a part of her husband's past, with the exception of Marcos, Elena and family, she'd always been most fond of Monroe. Always quick to regale her with stores of their time together, and even faster to knock Remington down a peg or two with a quick, cutting word – all in good fun of course – put him in a favorable light as far as she was concerned. The fact that he was still providing financial assistance to Rudy's family – the teenager blown up by a bomb placed on Remington's door during the Shane case – only endeared him further to her.

"How are Rudy's mom and sisters doing?" she asked.

"A little better each day. His mother is set to graduate from the nursing assistant program this month, and Keisha and Maya are both keeping their noses clean, staying in school."

"That's wonderful," she commented with sincerity. Both Keisha and Maya had begun running with questionable crowds shortly before their brother's death. After? Monroe had made it a point to assist the family in moving to a better neighborhood and a better school system in hopes the girls would find the right path.

"Now, my friends, I must depart. Mick, I'll understand if you need to forgo our poker game next Friday night if you wish instead to spend time with your lovely wife." Remington glanced at Laura who gave him a look that clearly said 'What are you looking to me for permission for?' making him chuckle lightly.

"No, no. It's going on two months since last I emptied your pockets, and I find myself looking quite forward to doing so again." Monroe laughed and pointed a finger at him, then turned to leave. He turned on his heel to address them again in the doorway.

"One last thing before I part. Jocelyn is quite insistent that we get together very soon. She finds herself in need of another set of doubles, followed by dinner and the theater." Laura's face lit up at the thought. She and Jocelyn had become rather fast friends while the two couples vacationed in Vail together after last Christmas.

"Next Saturday?" she asked lightly, while moving to Remington's side, her hand automatically gliding up his chest when his arm wrapped around her waist.

"She'll be excited beyond compare," Monroe agreed.

"I'll set up all the reservations and get back to you, mate," Remington offered, slapping Monroe on the shoulder. Monroe nodded his agreement.

"Adieu, mon amis. Until Friday, my friend."

"Back to the boxes, then?" he asked, turning to Laura. She looked around the room and shook her head.

"It seems silly to just restack them. Let's just get it over with," she sighed.

"Your enthusiasm is overwhelming," he commented, carefully schooling his expression. Her only response was a careless shrug.

"Come on, grab a pad and paper, and we'll get this show on the road."

Grabbing a pad of paper and pen from the drawer of the entryway table he gave her back a curious look, then stopped by the thermostat to pump the air conditioning down. Lying the paper and pen on the floor, he moved to the fireplace, turned on the gas, then lit the logs. After a quick run through the kitchen, he returned with two wine glasses and a chilled bottle of 1987 Robert Mondavi Cabernet Sauvignon. Sitting on the floor, he propped his back against the couch, as Laura piled boxes around him.

"You open, I'll write," she instructed, as she took a sip of her wine. "Mmmm, excellent vintage," she said approvingly of the wine.

"What is it you're writing?" She looked at him askance.

"Names, what the gift is. Wedding presents create an obligation in and of themselves in the form of thank you notes, Mr. Steele." He groaned an acknowledgment, not at all pleased to imagine them signing silly little cards over the several days it would surely take. He picked up the first package, gave it a little shake, then plucked the card off of it.

"Okay, first one – from Frank and Stella Gannon." Laura beamed.

"So Stella got her man after all."

"Appears so," he agreed, handing her the mailing box so she could record their address. He waited until she finished writing then with unholy glee, shredded the wrapping paper, keeping his eyes on her as he did, knowing full-well what her reaction would be. She unconsciously cringed at his destruction of the lovely paper. Pulling the gift from the box, Remington held up a crystal, bell-shaped ornament with their first wedding date inscribed on it. "Reminds me of the charms Frank gave each of his five wives. It's rather… creepy… when you think on it. Planning on stashing away several husbands on me, Mrs. Steele?"

"I suspect the one husband I have will be more than I can handle most days," she laughed. "Store it?" He nodded in agreement and moved the ornament to the side then picked up a large, heavy box.

"Angel, Chris and Walter Gallen." She glanced up and smiled, then returned her attention to carefully notating their address on her pad, cringing when she heard the shredding of gift wrap again. With a grin at her, he looked inside and whistled, impressed. She looked up at him with open curiosity.

"What is it?"

"A full service for eight of Walpole china," he answered, pulling out a white dinner plate with a pewter ring on its outside and handing it to her. "Laura, this china is commissioned for use by Royalty in several countries across the Continent, including England."

"It's exquisite," she noted, admiring its detail and quality. "Keep?" He nodded and moved the box to the keep pile.

"Joanne Pitkins." They looked at each other and groaned.

"Want to lay odds on it being an original Pitkins?" he asked. Ripping open the paper then popping open a box, a quick glance confirmed it was indeed a Pitkins.

"Store," they said in unison, then laughed.

Reaching for the next gift in the stack he read off Barbara Frick. He frowned trying to place the name.

"Girls of Four East," she supplied.

"Ah," he nodded, remembering her now as the woman at whose house they'd sought temporary respite in during the Gallen case. "Barbara of the infamous 'I hear you', eh? Given it's addressed to you alone, perhaps you should do the honors." He handed off the box to her, plucking the pen and paper from her hands to diligently record Barbara's address while he waited to record what she'd sent. Now it was she that smiled in amusement as she carefully peeled back each piece of tape, meticulously preserving the paper. With a bit of perverse enjoyment, the second she lay the intact paper down, he crumpled it up and tossed it towards the trash bag. She shook her head at him and he merely shrugged with a grin in return, as she opened the box. He watched as the light in her eyes flickered off and her smile failed. Determinedly she blanked her face and set the box aside, as he raised a brow at her.

"Books… of an inappropriate nature," she provided, pasting a patently fake smile on her face.

"Mmmm," he hummed, knowing she was prevaricating. "Care to share?" She flushed and shook her head.

"Shall we move on?" she hinted. With another glance at her, he nodded, and holding out his hand, suggested she should continue to open while he took his turn at recording. Two serving platters, and a smattering of other presents later, the frown returned to her face as she turned the box in her hand around to look at all six sides, finding no return address on the package. Seeing it had been hand stamped by a London postal office, she gave a small shrug. "From one of your friends, I suspect," she told him. When he raised a brow, she nodded at the box, "No return address."

"Ahh," he agreed with a nod of his head, watching with particular interest as she opened it. Laura's brows drew together as she pulled out a silver vase, shaped rather like a tall pumpkin with a waved rim. Setting it aside, she pulled out the tissue paper it had been nestled in and located a gift card. Remington plucked up the vase while pushing himself to a sitting position, looking from the vase held in his hands to the card held in hers.

"'Here's to the groom's good health?'" she read off questioningly. "Signed by A.R." She watched as her husband's countenance changed to barely contained rage.

"Bloody buggering hell, the blighter won't leave us alone, will he?" he cursed, as she looked on. It occurred to her then what the initials stood for.

"Roselli?" He nodded curtly in answer, while standing up to pace the floor as he examined the vase closely before slamming in into the trashcan. She felt a frisson of fear skitter up her spine at his action. "What is it?" she asked. He paused in his pacing to glance at her, then with a hard rub at his face, began to pace again.

"A threat, that's what it is," he spit out. She stared at him, waiting him out. "A replica of the Basano Vase," he answered with a shake of his head, as he resumed pacing. "A silver vase made in the 15th century and presented to a bride as a wedding present. A wedding that never happened as the bride was found murdered before the ceremony, clutching the vase in her hands. Over the years it was passed down through the family, and each person that owned it met an untimely death." When he turned back to face her, he found her standing and pacing now as well while rubbing at her neck.

"He's threatening to kill you," she stated numbly. He gave her a brisk nod.

"Perhaps…or at least hoping we'll believe that's what he's doing." He shook his head and swiped at his mouth, before he realized her skin had lost all color and the back of her hand was held to her forehead once more. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to relax, then walked across the room to gather her in a hug. She held up a hand, stopping him.

"I'm alright," she assured him, taking a deep breath of her own and letting it out slowly. Closing her eyes, she forcefully shook off her fear, then narrowed her eyes in determination. "Murphy will have Roselli's background check done in under two days. Until then, we're not letting Roselli have another second of our lives. Agreed?" He nodded his head, then stepped to her and gathered her into his arms. This time she went willingly. After a brief hug and a buss on the top of her head, he released her.

"Shall we carry on, then?" She glanced at the half dozen or so presents that remained of those stacked in the living room and dining room and nodded her head. After they'd resumed their original positions, she picked up the next box.

"R.J. Stonewell," she told him by rote, then removed the paper without her normal wrapping-saving routine. Remington was relieved to see the smile return to her face, as she clicked her nails against whatever was in the box. She lifted a pair of stunning Correia lamps from the box, both shades and base white with stunning, bold silver and black accents. Without knowing it, R.J. had managed to find a gift that blended both of their personal sense of styles into one. "They're gorgeous…"she breathed. He gave a nod of agreement.

"I think we'll certainly be able to find a place for them in our new home," he said with a lift of his brows, reminding her of their plans to purchase a home in the very near future.

"They will," she agreed, her eyes twinkling at the thought. Unable to resist, he leaned forward and stole a kiss from her. She brushed her fingers against his cheek, then returned her attention to the remaining presents. Gifts from Bulletz Bloustein and his brother Julian Barron (pleated black and white curtains), Doris and Charles Dumont (a full service of sterling silver flatware), Rocky Sullivan (a mix tape of her music which promptly, and quite accidentally fell into the trashcan never to be seen again), and Sandy Dalrymple (bakeware of the first order, according to Remington) were unwrapped and set aside. Finally, Laura lifted the last of the presents in this round, and read off the name of the sender.

"Wilson and Amelia Jeffries," she said aloud. Remington glanced at her and saw no indication that a present from the man she'd lived with had aroused any emotion. Carefully noting the return address on the pad of paper, when he looked back up, he found her reading a note with a frown, before tucking it away in a pocket of her skirt. She lifted pair of crystal champagne flutes from the box, blinking rapidly as her eyes grew moist, then, regaining her bearings, offered an explanation.

"They were my grandmother's. I didn't realize Wilson had them. I suppose I should be grateful since they were spared from the explosion at my house." He picked one up, examining the hand painted detail on the antique crystal flutes.

"Quite extraordinary," he commented. She nodded her head.

"From what my Grandmother told me, my great-great-grandparents toasted each other on their wedding day with them." Picking them up, she packed them carefully back in the box and set it aside before standing. "Dinner should be here shortly. Let's get this mess cleaned up," she suggested.

Working together, they found temporary homes for what the gifts they were going to keep – those from Bulletz & Julian, R.J., the Dumonts, the Gallen family and Miss Dalrymple along with Waterford crystal champagne flutes from Buddy and Ivy Shapiro, a stunning crystal frame from Veronica Kirk, as well a 23-piece Alessi cookware set from Pierre Fumar et al that had thrilled Remington as he envisioned all that he could create.

While Laura was distracted putting together a selection of boxes in which they could pack up those items they planned to store or donate, Remington surreptitiously opened the box from Barbara, his curiosity having gotten the best of him. He read the titles of the two books contained within with a raised brow: _Cooking for Dummies_ and the _Kama Sutra._ A frown crossed his brow. A quick check over his shoulder showed his wife starting to pack up the store pile. He quickly palmed the note Barbara had sent with the present then began packing up those gifts that would be donated. He slipped Barbara's two books in what that stash.

They both turned to glance at the front door as the doorbell rang. He walked over to answer it while she continued to talk about the gifts they'd decided to donate to the Church for their next raffle.

"Eight. Eight serving platters. What makes people's minds automatically go to serving platters as a wedding gift?" He chuckled as he opened the door and found Fred standing there, a box from Chez Rive in arms.

"Appreciate it, mate," he told Fred, taking the box from him.

"Anytime, Mr. Steele. Will you be needing me anymore this evening?" Remington glanced at Laura who answered with a shrug and a shake of her head.

"Take the rest of the weekend off, Fred."

Remington shut the door and carried the box into the kitchen. Laura grabbed the bottle of wine and their glasses, then set them on the dining room table, then joined him in the kitchen as he dished out their dinner of balsamic-herb ratatouille and a simple salad tossed in a light vinaigrette dressing. She carried the salad plates out to the table, while he followed on her heels with the plates of ratatouille. The enjoyed a leisurely meal, talking about events of the day, he shooed her from the kitchen after watching her attempt to smother several yawns throughout the meal. Though barely 7:30 p.m. in LA, they'd been awake and on the move for just shy of 23 hours by that point. In short order, he had all the dinnerware washed, dried and put away.

Walking into the living room, he gave a silent nod when he heard the shower still running, then slid Barbara's note from his pocket to read it. He mouthed several epitaphs at what he read.

" _Laura – If one doesn't help in the kitchen, maybe the other will help you make it up in the bedroom. wink wink. – Barbara"_

He shook his head in irritation. The woman, supposedly Laura's friend, had taken two serious blows at her with a single sentence and seemed to believe she was being comical. He knew his wife well enough to know that the woman's words would have gone right to the heart of two of her biggest insecurities. And on the tail of those words, had come whatever Wilson had written that had pushed her nearly to the point of tears. Without remorse, he went into the bedroom and picked up her skirt, fishing the note she'd secreted there from the pocket.

" _Laura – I've long suspected that Steele would be the man at last able to tame you. I hope you find with him all the happiness I've found with my wife. – Wilson."_

"Bloody hell," he muttered furiously. The damned twit had beat Laura's confidence down for years and now, when she was finally finding her footing and confidence, his backhanded comments would have opened up old wounds, of that he had no doubt. Yet, both notes gave him new insight into his lovely wife. She'd clearly surrounded herself, over the years, by people that had no clue the harm their words had done her. Granted, Laura was a pro at hiding her reactions behind a mask of icy calm, but had either Barbara or Wilson known her at all, they would have known that their careless words would have left her bleeding. He quietly damned the both of them, as he heard the shower turn off. Returning the note to her skirt pocket, he stripped off his shirt and tossed it in the hamper before fishing a pair of pajama bottoms from his drawer. When she emerged from the bathroom, he caught her around the waist. Looping her arms around his neck, she smiled up at him.

"Something on your mind, Mr. Steele?" she purred. He waggled his brows at hers, before running a hand down her back from shoulder to thigh. He felt the slight tremor that passed through her body in response. Bending down, he kissed her softly, then deepened the kiss, making sure he left no doubt just how desirable he found her. He broke off the kiss only when he felt her hands flex in his hair where she'd buried them, the action accompanied by a soft hum of pleasure.

"You're always on my mind, Mrs. Steele," he murmured against her neck where his lips trailed. She skimmed her nails lightly down his back. He arched into her hand and laved the area beneath her ear with his tongue in response. At her soft gasp, he began to suckle on the sensitive skin. Her body trembled at the sensation.

"Go take your shower, so we can finish this conversation," she murmured into his hair. With a smile, he dropped a kiss at the hollow of her throat.

"I'll be holding you to that," he warned softly.

"I have no doubt that you will," she answered with a touch of her lips to his. She cast an appreciative look at her husband's stunning form as he walked into the bathroom. With a small laugh, she decided to unpack the few personal items – a couple of books she'd been reading before their first wedding, her address book, a pen and notepad she kept in her bedside table without fail – and put them away, knowing it wouldn't occupy much of her time. With a shrug, she decided that by the time she made sure the apartment was locked up for the evening and picked up anything lying about, he'd be done with his shower. To that end, she moved to the nightstand on the left of his bed, the one on which his phone sat, and pulled open the top drawer. Finding a couple of magazines there dating back several months, she took them out and opened the lower drawer to store them there. The sketchpad lying in that drawer caught her eye, and she pulled it out. Sitting on the bed, she began leafing through the pages.

She stared, transfixed at both the content of the pages and the proof of how skilled her husband was. She'd seen a small sample of his artistic abilities when he'd drawn the Blaster comic strip more than a year before, but had no idea how truly gifted he was. She ran a finger over a picture he'd drawn of her sleeping pressed close to his body, the fingers of one hand lying against his ribs, her leg bent over his thighs, that he'd simply entitled, "In My Arms." The next page showed a silhouette of them dancing – he in jeans and a button down shirt, she wearing a long sleeved, snug fitting dress - in the foreground and the visage of the New York City landscape in the background. He'd entitled this one "For Once in My Life," after the Tony Bennett song that they'd danced to that night. She felt her chest tighten with emotion.

The next page was nothing more than a sketch of two hands, fingers intertwined – their hands – which he'd titled "Intimacy." Her mind flooded with the memory of their conversation about intimacy in New York. She closed her eyes, willing the tears that were threatening not to come, then turned to the next page before opening her eyes again.

They stood on a beach, his arms wrapped tightly around her, her face tucked his shoulder, her lips pressing against his neck. Her hair hung in damp ringlets, his own dampened hair hanging across his forehead. On his face was the look of profound relief that she'd seen when she'd pulled away. In the background, waves crashed on the shore and rippled the surface of the ocean. It was entitled, "Hope." Drops of wetness escaped from under her lashes, unnoticed.

She moved through the pages quickly after that. A sketch of her facing him in an alleyway in London, his hands clutching her upper arms, her hands pressed flat against his chest, both of them shocked, titled, "She Came." Him feeding her chocolate in a park in Amsterdam, desire warming both of their eyes, entitled, "Dessert." Them sharing a soft kiss on a marble staircase in a ballroom, his brows lifted in surprise, titled "Marking Territory." Them sharing a kiss, their first kiss, on a dock in LA, titled "The Moment". The two of them spooned together sleeping, their hands intertwined and tucked up against her chest, titled "Everything." With a shaking hand, she skipped ahead to the last page. This piece was drawn with firmer strokes than the others and was of him, leaning against the Rabbit parked at the beach, head hanging, her shoes and dress gripped in a hand, titled "The Cost". She drew in a harsh breath, fought for it, then pushed herself up from the bed and fled the room.

On the terrace, she leaned on her arms against the terrace wall, fighting for each breath as the events of the last two months converged at once. The Little Chapel of Perpetual Hope. His desperation on the streets of LA. The tuna boat. The look on his face in the jail in Mexico when she'd demanded to know why he didn't have a name. The look on his face in the apartment when she'd kissed Roselli. The Flamingo Club. Him watching her kiss Roselli on the train. Finding him in the bar in Ireland the night Daniel died. The house from his childhood. The first night they'd made love. Greece. Their rings. Cannes. The proposal. Roselli's revelations in Cannes. The wedding.

All her defenses down, the past came roaring in. Her father leaving. Wilson's constant criticisms and the way he would isolate her. Wilson leaving her. Her mother's constant criticisms. A magnum of champagne. Him lying on her lap drunk and his confession. The wine cellar. The Federal Reserve. Acapulco. The story of Marcos. His refusal to ask. The Auburn. Descoines. Anna. Waking in his arms after Carl shot her. Freddie Smith. Ending them in Cannes. The fire at the loft and thinking she'd lost him. Amnesia and kisses in a hayloft. The search for his father. Buckner's men beating him. The thaw. Vegas. San Francisco. Westfield. The look on his face when she'd ended them – Oh God, the look. An empty apartment. Months of anguish not knowing where he was, how he was. Finding him in London. Cranston. The look on his face when she didn't visit him in jail. The bomb in her apartment. The Downtown Motor Inn. His comfort on the terrace. Christmas morning. Vail. Him with Laurie Beth. Taking care of Frances's kids. The rigged elevator. Wally. The Spa. New York. Living on the streets.

A phone call. Two books. A vase. A pair of champagne flutes. A sketchbook. She bent over battling to breathe.

" _ **Yeah, it tells me I should have planned a little better in London, then we wouldn't even be having this conversation."**_

Her tenuous control snapped, and she spiraled downwards.

Remington emerged from the bathroom, hair still wet, towel wrapped around his shoulders and wearing only the pair of pajama bottoms that matched the top Laura had pulled on. His eyes moved to the empty bed, before he wandered out to the living room, thinking she may have popped on a movie to wait for him. The living room was empty, as too were the dining room and kitchen he found on a quick search. He noticed a breeze hitting the curtains by the veranda and wandered over to the doorway.

Finding her with his eyes, he found himself suddenly rooted to the spot. There was something about the way she stood near the railing, arms protectively around herself, that sent a shimmer of concern through his body. Although he believed he'd memorized, long ago, all the nuances of her body language, this particular one was lost on him and it set him off balance that he couldn't read her now. So he leaned against the doorjamb, and stood, waiting, observing, trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together.

Laura placed her hands on the cement railing then leaned over, arms straight in front of her, head dropping down, her body heaving. Lifting one arm from the railing, she wrapped it around her middle, trying to comfort herself, gain control of herself, a bubble of hysterical laughter escaping from her throat, only for it to pop and turn into a heart pounding, air gulping panic attack.

His pulse picking up pace at the sight, he moved quickly and quietly to stand behind her.

"Laura." He said her name softly while reaching out and touching her shoulder lightly.

She spun away from his touch, and held up her hand for him to stay away as she pressed her backside against the wall to balance herself as her knees bent, her legs almost unable to hold her up any longer and her body nearly completely doubled over. The fear on her face, the violent heaving of her body and her desperate attempts to draw air into her lungs ripped his heart to pieces, leaving him feeling helpless.

"Don't," she gasped, forcing the words around the panic. "So stupid…" she laughed, a bit hysterically, "I'm… okay. I'll… be… okay."

Unable to watch any longer, he gave a swift shake of his head, and, stepping to her, swept her up, pulling her tight against him as he carried her into the living room. Sitting her on the edge of the couch, he firmly pushed down her head until it was between her knees. Kneeling in front of her, he reached between her body and legs and pressed his hand against her diaphragm, the other hand reaching behind her to knead her back.

He moved his mouth close to her ear. "Laura, listen to me," he said softly, soothingly, "Concentrate on my hand on your back, feel the muscles loosening under my fingers. Then breathe with me. In…" he took a deep breath, "and out…" he said slowly exhaling. "That's it… In…and out. Good, that's good," he praised, as her breathing began to slow "It'll be okay, Laura. Whatever it is, we'll work it out. Keep breathing….in….and out."

Laura, panic attack abating after several long minutes, lifted her head to look at him, then wrapped her arms around his neck, laying her head on his shoulder and burying her head in his neck. She breathed his rich, earthy scent in deeply, the familiarity of it acting as a balm to frayed nerves. His arms reached around her, pulling her tight against him. When she released her grip on him, he rubbed a hand on her leg then stood and walked over to the bar, pouring them each a snifter of brandy. Returning to the couch, he handed her a glass then sat down, drawing her next to his side. They sat quietly for several minutes, he waiting to speak until he saw she'd consumed half of the brandy he had poured and was now notably more relaxed.

"Can you talk yet?" She nodded, after taking another sip of the brandy. "Have you had one of these before?" he queried. Laura glanced at him, and although flushing with embarrassment, she answered him with a nod.

"More times than I care to remember," she admitted. He couldn't conceal his surprise fully, but hid it in rather short order. Reaching around her shoulders, he ran his fingers up and down her arm while waiting for her to continue. She sighed deeply, knowing that unless she addressed the causes head on, she faced the panic attacks returning with more frequency.

"I didn't deal well with my father leaving… you already know that. While his leaving was hard on Frances, she was always closer to Mother than I was. Me? My father was my world, and then suddenly he was gone." She leaned her head against the back of the couch and closed her eyes. "For a time, the more… depressed… I became, the more I pushed the limits. I think some small part of me had been clinging to the hope that if I pushed things too far, he'd come home to make me fall back in line." She gave a short, sharp laugh on a shake of her head, then turned her head so she could see him. "Eventually, I had to accept he was never coming home. That we weren't enough to make him happy. That _I wasn't_ enough to make him happy. If I'd been a better daughter, better behaved, less… demanding, had I not been the reason he and Mother so frequently fought then maybe he would have stayed around. But the why's didn't really matter any longer."

She shook her head and pressed the back to her hand to her forehead again, trying to find the words without losing control again. Remington shifted on the couch so he faced her fully, his head propped up in his hand, carefully keeping his expression neutral. "I forced myself to accept the fact that I was alone." Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat, using that iron will of hers to force back down the emotion. "Mother had Frances, Frances had Mother. Both of them locked in silence. No laughter, no tears. Just… that silence. But still they had each other even then. Then there was me – never enough for either of them, but I had once believed I was enough for him." She sighed, rubbed at her arms. "I left the softball team, unable to take any more of the looks of pity the girls would give me when no one would show to watch my games. Then, after… Marty… I no longer even had me. I had been betraying myself for months: skipping school, bombing tests, refusing to study, partying, and then finally sleeping with a boy for no other reason than to push the limits. Two days later, I had my first panic attack." She fell silent, relaxing the side of her head against the back of the couch, allowing the touch of his fingers in her hair to soothe.

"Only the one then?" he queried. The corner of her mouth lifted and she gave a little snort.

"No. Once they started they simply escalated in frequency, annoying Mother to no end. She was convinced that they were nothing more than a demand for attention. 'You've always been too sensitive, Laura.' 'You always want too much attention, Laura.'" She laughed softly. "After four months of it, she'd had enough and sent me off to counseling. 'Really, Laura, we have enough on our plates without your dramatics,' she told me. I didn't want to go. But it helped. By the end of my senior year I was back on track with my grades, the panic attacks had stopped, and I even played softball for Varsity that year." She shrugged, then fell quiet.

"Was tonight the first time you've had an attack since then?" he asked. Laura gave him querulous half smile and shook her head in the negative.

"They started again after Wilson left me, with a vengeance. Even though I knew that time what they were, I had no control over them. After I had one while working a case with Murphy, I went back into counseling. It took me nearly a year working with Dr. Bickford finding the new triggers, learning new techniques to stave them off… addressing the… underlying issues… before they stopped all together. It was hard work, but I couldn't risk it happening again on a case." She looked at him, then away. "I'd only been out of counseling for a little over six months when you appeared. Since then, I've only had two: tonight and…" she trailed off on a shake of her head, lying her head back down and looking at him.

"And?" he prompted. She closed her eyes on a shaky breath, then opening the diverted her eyes from him. With a single finger under the chin, he turned her to look at him. "And?" She shook her head again and stood up, taking several paces away from him before she lifted her hand to press the back of it against her forehead, while letting out a small breath.

"The night I came here and found you gone," she answered finally. He nodded, as, slowly, the pieces of Laura Holt that had alluded him over the years began to fall into place.

He'd been expecting a meltdown for days – a meltdown in the form of a fine showing of her temper which was par for the course when she felt she had too little control, too little time to carefully analyze her every action before making a calculated move. For nearly two months they'd been reacting to what had been thrown at them with little time to make anything other than snap decisions. Since Daniel's death, they'd been living on emotion, making choices – big choices – based on their hearts, not their heads. For Laura Holt, the woman who ruled her emotions with an iron will, there was bound to be fallout once she had any amount of time to let her brain engage. He'd been waiting for it. Expecting it. Dreading it, yet accepting that it would come all the same. But this, on the terrace, he'd not seen coming at all.

"Tonight, tell me about it," he urged quietly. Dropping her hand, she turned to look at him. She hadn't wanted him to know. The attacks made her feel weak, helpless, powerless. Since the day he'd entered her life she'd recognized that unless she kept absolute control over their… relationship… that the sheer force of his will and personality would plow her down. The closer they became, the more walls she built, in a desperate attempt to keep him from gaining the upper hand and drawing her fully in. Once those walls had crumbled she'd been unable to prevent herself from letting him all the way into her heart. Wrapping her arms around herself, she ran her hands up and down her arms in an attempt to self-comfort.

She shook her head, refusing. His lips quirked upwards, as he silently laughed to himself. _Stubborn to the core,_ he mused. Scratching at his chin, he thought back to the events throughout the day as they'd unfolded. Within moments, he was nodding his head as he recalled the tremor that had passed through her body as she was speaking with Abigail.

"What did your mother say to you, Laura?" Her head jerked in his direction, her lips parted in surprise. In a split second she covered her reaction, dropping that icy calm mask over her face for which she was so well known.

"Nothing important," she prevaricated. He crossed his arms behind his head, leaning back into them and waited her out. She glanced at him several times, before casting an irritated glance his way. "That given my reckless and embarrassing behavior, at least you were a good catch and I'd better not mess it up as I did with Wilson." Her words were short, terse, yet he caught the underlying hurt that she'd tried to conceal.

"Were you?" he asked, leaning forward and resting his weight now on elbows propped on his knees as he watched her. She gave her head a quick shake as though trying to clear it, uncertain of what he was asking.

"Was I what?"

"Reckless, your behavior an embarrassment?" Pushing himself up from the couch, he moved to stand beside her. "What have you done? Held me off for four years? Married me to keep me here? Married me a second time in Greece?" She looked at him, then turning her head released and irritable puff of air.

"You don't know Mother. It's all about image. Her daughter eloping?" She released a short, almost forlorn laugh. "As far as she's concerned, she'll never be able to hold her head high at the Junior League or DAR luncheons again."

"Is that so?" he pondered, then hummed in thought. "Seems to me she'll be the queen bee for some time once the full story is told." She backed away from him and strode several steps away before turning back to face him, her fingers finding a brow.

"Trust me when I say, Remington, that Mother won't think so."

"Her daughter and son-in-law dashing across Europe to aid in the apprehension of a spy? The pair of them being bequeathed not only a castle in Ireland, but also bestowed with the titles of Lord and Lady? A wedding at sunset, overlooking the Aegean, the marriage blessed by the Church? She'll be able to regale her friends at those luncheons with a tale straight from the movies." Her hand at her brow had stilled midway through his commentary, and by the time he'd completed it, he saw a little of the sparkle return to her eyes. "What else helped spur on the events this evening?" He watched as the light in her eyes faltered then faded, doubt and uncertainty swamping her. She looked away from him with a shake of her head.

"It's not important," she averred. He swiped at his hair in irritation.

"I disagree, Laura. When I find my wife doing her best rendition of Carrie (Sissy Spacek, Piper Laurie, Amy Irving, Red Bank Productions, 1976) – absent of course setting the flat ablaze," she gave a small snort at the last, "It certainly qualifies as important in my eyes. Now, what else?" Her eyes danced towards the presents across the room, then away, giving her head another shake, refusing to answer.

Irritated with her reticence, he gave his own head a shake and went to the bedroom as she stared at his departing back in confusion, only to watch as he re-emerged and moved to dig through the presents. Returning to her, he tossed the two books from Barbara on the coffee table and held up the two notes. She flushed even as she wrapped her arms tightly around herself, while carefully blanking her face.

"These?" he asked.

"Just a joke," she answered, forcing a smile across her lips. He let out an irritable puff of air, then folded open the accompanying note.

"'Laura – If one doesn't help in the kitchen, maybe the other will help you make it up in the bedroom. wink wink. – Barbara, _'"_ he read aloud, then held the note up when finished.He watched her flinch as he read the words, then as her self-confidence took a nose dive while bringing her insecurities crashing down around her.

"Just a joke," she reaffirmed, even as the false smile faded. He swiped at his face, his frustration palpable.

"We're not doing this anymore, Laura, remember? No more hiding. No more half-truths. Certainly no outright lying. For the better part of a year now, you've insisted that we communicate, really communicate, with one another." She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, closing her eyes as her brows drew together out of guilt and harm. "You thought you hid it from me, your reaction to these. You seem to forget that I can read you as easily as you can me. What really boggles the mind is that you call this woman a friend, even as she… attacks you with your own fears. Forgive me if I don't see the humor in her little… gift," he said the last with sarcasm, while picking up the books, displaying them to her, then tossing them on the floor.

"Is she wrong?" she asked quietly. "I asked you if you were really ready for this. Maybe I asked the wrong question." She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. "Am I?" She watched as his eyes widened, and he brushed a hand across his mouth. She closed her eyes and shook her head, before reopening her eyes, dropping her arms, and began to pace. "I don't know how to be a wife, how to be married." At this, he laughed lightly, drawing her attention to him with questioning eyes.

"And I've any better idea how to be a husband? It doesn't mean I'm not going to claim it… this… for myself." He gave a shake of his head at the self-doubt painted across her, and crossed the room to stand near her. "Look, Laura, you and I? We've lived in one another's pockets for years now. We know more about one another than most know after spending a lifetime together, in large part, I'd wager, because as partners we rely on each other far more than most. Can you deny that before," he stumbled, then cleared his throat, "before the arrival of the INS that we were doing well enough? I don't seem to recall where your lack of interest in cooking caused any problems between us, can you?"

"Well, no, but…"

"No buts, Laura," he insisted, reaching out for a tendril of hair. "One of the few things you allow me to do for you is cook. And I happen to find great… pleasure… in cooking, always have. And as for the other? I'd wager that they two of us together can come up with far more…" he reached for her hips and drew her near "… creative and fulfilling ideas than Vatsyayana ever conceived of. We already have, for that matter. Do you disagree?" He watched as desire danced across her eyes, lighting them before stepping away, and crossing the room to pick up Wilson's note from the coffee table. "As for this? I've said it before, but it seems to bear repeating: Wilson is a buggering eegit. While he might be pleased with what is, no doubt, an ice queen who believes it is her wifely duty to lie prone whilst allowing him what she believes are his husbandly rights," he grinned as Laura snickered, semi-appalled at his description, "I've absolutely no desire for the same." He approached her again. "Tame you? When a single look by you can set my body aflame? When your touch can leave me begging as I've never done before?" She sunk her teeth into her lower lip while stepping into him, running her hands up his chest before wrapping them around his neck. He held up Wilson's note. "Can we both agree, once and for all, that Wilson had absolutely no idea how to handle the remarkable woman that you are?" She glanced at the note, then taking it from him, crumbled it up and tossed it to the floor.

"Wilson who?" she asked, fingering his hair and drawing his lips down to hers. He kissed her hungrily, leaving no doubt about her effects on his person. He drew his fingers through her hair, before lacing them with hers and pulling her towards the door.

"What are you doing?" she asked, laughing as he drug her out into hallway. "We're hardly dressed to go anywhere." She let out a little squeak as he swept her suddenly up in his arms.

"I just realized, _Mrs. Steele_ , that we forgot a very important tradition," he told her, stepping across the threshold with her.

"I believe we've done this before, Mr. Steele," she said with mirth threading her words.

"Not properly, and not for real," he insisted. "This time we're going to do it right." She watched as he booted the door shut with his foot then continued across the living room with her in his arms. Her lips found his neck and wandered.

"I think you've already completed what you set out to do," she teased, as he turned them to slide through the bedroom door.

"Perhaps the threshold but not the rest. As I said, we're going to do this properly and quite for real," his lips found hers as he lowered her to the bed, his eye catching the open sketchbook, brows raising. Pushing herself to her knees, she picked up the sketchbook and put it back in the nightstand drawer.

"Later," she told him, then wrapped her hands in the waistband of his pajama pants and with a tug, pulled him down to the bed. "Now, I believe you said something about making you beg," she smiled, drawing his lips back down to hers.

Hours later they lay facing one another, breathing hard, his hands stroking through her hair, down her back, as she wiped the sweat from his brow, then, sweeping that stubborn lock of hair from his forehead, trailed her lips down a salty neck. Her fingers tangled in the hair of his chest, as a finger tipped her chin up and his lips caressed hers. With a gentle nudge to his shoulder, she sent him reluctantly to his back, his arm wrapping tightly around her when she wrapped her body around his and nuzzled her head down into his chest.

"That was some homecoming," she said breathily against his chest, as her fingers wandered his sides. He chuckled softly, then bussed her on the top of her head as fingers threaded through her damp hair.

"Mmmm," he hummed. "Just remember, love, turnabout is fair play. Next time it'll be you doin' the beggin'," he murmured, lyrical Irish tones lacing through his words, drawing a smile of contentment from her.

"If that's what you need to believe, far be it from me to dispel the fantasy," she quipped, drawing another laugh from him.

They dozed lightly as fingers continued to wander, to caress.

"Rem?" she asked in a near whisper.

"Hmmm?"

"We're really doing this, aren't we?" She felt his nod.

"That we are, love." She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly on a smile.

"Good," she sighed, then nuzzled deeper into his body, allowing sleep to take her. He pulled her just a little bit tighter to him and closed his eyes, wondering what he'd done to deserve this much happiness


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 18: Evil This Way Comes

On Sunday morning, Laura awoke to a set of long, tapered fingers trailing across her body, leaving heat in their wake. A large, hard, insistent, something nudged at her bottom, as a pair of lips grazed across freckles smattered across her shoulders. Smiling she tried to turn in his arms, only to find an arm tightening around her, keeping her still. Tipping back her head, she looked at him questioningly, to find a playful light dancing through smoldering blue eyes. His lips moved to dance across her own, teasingly, as he spoke.

"I believe I promised someone would be the next to beg," he murmured huskily.

"We'll see about that, big guy," she teased. He chuckled softly as he lifted her leg, and lay it on his hip, opening her fully to him. He slid into her depths then stilled, keeping her back pressed to his front, leaving her body fully at his mercy.

"Yes, we will, love, yes we will," he promised.

And, indeed, he made her beg for mercy… twice.

At a little after 10:30, Laura and Remington sat at the dining room table, enjoying the breakfast he'd whipped up as she had languorously dozed after their round of lovemaking. The smell of crepes browning roused her from their bed, and she wrapped a robe around herself before joining him in the kitchen. Humming in pleasure as she devoured the eggs, bacon and raspberry crepes her husband had prepared, she watched with amusement as that same husband squirmed from time-to-time in the seat across from hers as he tried to eat his breakfast. She lifted her eyes to look innocently at him from under her lashes as on a groan, he tried to capture the foot that was the source of his problems, only for it to allude him again while his wife laughed devilishly at him from across the table.

"Laura," he growled, "You keep that up, we won't be finishing our breakfast." He tried to contain a gleeful little grin. In the days since Ashford Castle, their world had finally begun righting itself, and wild, playful Laura had begun rearing her head once more. That she was as insatiable as he, brought him endless wonderment and he absolutely relished it. But it was beyond compare that she enjoyed exploring all facets of their physical relationship as much as he: from tender lovemaking; to voracious hunger in which their bodies sought hard, immediate release; to the playful games that often had them laughing and teasing throughout. He'd never wanted the first with any woman except her, and had only managed to capture the last two a handful of times with other women in his past. Yet, he had discovered for himself, the emotions that were ever present between he and Laura even during those times made all others pale in comparison.

"Then perhaps one of us should eat faster," she said with an impish grin, as her fleet foot managed to toe itself up his length, nearly making his eyes roll back in his head. This time, he managed to grab the foot before it could make its escape. Dropping his fork on his plate, he began to massage her foot, drawing a deep hum from her throat as she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.

"No fair," she mumbled.

"Self-defense," he countered. She laughed with mirth then sitting forward stabbed several pieces of crepe off his plate with her fork and lifted it to his mouth. She watched the tender look that passed through his eyes and felt the slight tremor in his hands on her foot at her offering. Her heart did a little pitter-patter then turned to mush in response.

The sudden, harsh ring of the telephone had them both turning their heads to glare at it. She was the first to recover, realizing it was more than likely Murphy calling with his background on Roselli. Prying her foot from his lap, she stood and made her way quickly across the room, yanking up the receiver just before the answering machine could usurp the call. At Murphy's voice on the other side of the line, she looked pointedly at Remington.

"It's Murphy," she told him. "Why don't you go pick up the other line in the bedroom." With a nod, he stood up and followed the suggestion. Sitting on the bed, he picked up the receiver.

"Steele here," he said into the mouthpiece. On the other end of the line Murphy groaned.

"Are you ever going to stop answering a phone like that?" Murphy asked.

"Perhaps, once it stops annoying you," Remington quipped.

"Laura, seriously, what do you see in him?" She pulled the phone over to the end of the sofa where she could see Remington in the bedroom.

"There are days I've asked myself that same question, Murph," she told him, laughing as Remington flashed a look of disbelief at her. "So what have you found?" Murphy grinned at the other side of the phone. Typical Laura, getting right down to business, he thought to himself.

"Quite a few answers and a lot of questions, actually."

"Okay. Spill it, Murph," she told him.

"Okay, here we go," Murphy replied. "Anthony Michael Roselli, born November 10, 1951 at Fort Dix Army Hospital in Fort Dix, New Jersey. Father was career army, mother a homemaker. The family moved frequently, with Roselli living in six states by the time he graduated from high school: New Jersey, Mississippi, North Carolina, Arizona, Colorado and Kentucky. He was a sub-par student in high school, graduating with a 2.1 GPA. Entered the military at age 18, did a tour of Vietnam and was dishonorably discharged four years later at the age of 23, for conduct unbecoming…"

"What had he done?" Laura asked, interrupting.

"I'm still working on that. His military records don't give the specifics, but I have a few leads to follow up on," Murphy answered. "He worked a series of odd jobs over the course of the next two years, then eventually gained admittance to the police academy. He graduated the academy at the top of his class, then just appeared to vanish for two years. I haven't been able ascertain where he was during this time. He makes his appearance against as an agent for the INS. In 1983 he was banished to a backwoods office of the INS in South America, yet somehow ended up working in conjunction with the MI5 from late '84 to late '85. In late '85 he is once again back in South America where he remains until he shows up in Manzanillo, Mexico. This is where things start getting really interesting."

Laura and Remington exchanged glances through the bedroom doorway. He picked up the phone and moved to sit at the end of the bed so he could better see her.

"How so?" Remington asked.

"He worked in Mexico City for only seven months, before he was sent to South America in what could only be termed a considerable demotion. It appears Roselli had become obsessed with the wife of his supervisor in Mexico City. He'd made numerous overt passes at the wife, and when she turned him down continually citing devotion to her husband, he began following the woman. She eventually tried to file harassment charges with the Federales down there. However, those charges were declined with the authorities claiming lack of proof. When his supervisor confronted Roselli about the ongoing harassment of his wife, Roselli flew into a rage and beat the man pretty savagely, eventually throwing the man through the plate glass window of his office. His transfer to South America occurred right after that incident."

"Oh my God," she mumbled, rubbing at the back of her neck with her hand. "Was the man he beat okay?"

"A broken arm and nose, numerous lacerations that had to be stitched up, out of work for several months. But yeah, he survived."

"Where did you acquire this information from?" Remington asked.

"Conchita Guitierrez. I tracked her down in Colima. Let me tell you, she was more than happy to tell me everything she knew. Apparently Roselli ditched her in Manzanillo with no money, no way to get back to Mexico City after, and I quote 'he went chasing after some gringa he was supposed to be busting for a fake marriage'. I'm curious. What does she mean by fake marriage?" Laura rolled her eyes. Glancing at Remington, she saw his discomfort that Murphy might know the particulars of their first marriage and pointedly tried to misdirect him.

"Roselli tried to blackmail Remington, telling him that he would prove our marriage was fake and have him deported unless he agreed to pass along some information in a rather shady operation for MI5," she told her former partner, avoiding the more pertinent details. Murphy nodded to himself, sensing there was more to the story but knowing he would never get it out of Laura if she didn't want him to know.

"Seems to fit his pattern, to some extent. Anyway, according to the Guitierrez woman, Roselli was contacted by someone named Keyes…"

"Bloody hell!" Remington exploded. "I swear, if Norman Keyes weren't dead Laura, I'd kill him all over again."

"You'd have to beat me to it," she answered him, seething.

"Who is this Keyes character?" Murphy asked.

"A petulant prig who was pissed off when he found out his company had hired us to oversee some of their insurance investigations. Keyes was not at all happy that he would report to us, and set about trying to turn our lives upside down," Remington answered.

"Seems Keyes also had some pull in the INS," Murphy informed them. "According to Guitierrez, he had some dirt on someone fairly high up in the LA office, who arranged to have Roselli transferred to the Manzanillo office in order to pursue the two of you in an official capacity. Roselli and Keyes worked together to change your travel arrangements and were lying in wait when you two arrived at the," Murphy shuffled some papers, "Hotel del Amour. Guitierrez said Keyes and Roselli knew the two of you would try to get out of the place as quickly as possible. They paid off the desk clerk to make sure the two of you were forced to separate. Roselli wanted to make sure to get Laura alone, figuring she would be the weak link. So he had Guitierrez give her cousin, who was a member of a group called the…" he consulted his notes "…Malvados, a thousand dollars in exchange for he and his buddies pretending they were going to accost Laura, so Roselli could come to her rescue…"

"Wait a minute!" Laura interrupted again, one of Murphy's comments just then sinking in. "What do you mean that they thought I was the weak link?"

"Roselli apparently told Guitierrez that the quickest way to get to Steele was through you. Keyes had informed Roselli that if Steele believed you were in danger he would not be on his game and that he would do just about anything to protect you."

"They were right," Remington admitted, running a hand through his hair.

"That's not true. You knew Roselli was trouble from the moment he showed up in our lives," she told him, wishing she were sitting next to him instead of them separated by a room.

"Keep going, Michaels," Remington told him, as he scraped his fingers through his hair.

"Originally the plan was for Roselli to seduce Laura, prove that your marriage was a fraud, and to have you deported. That would allow Keyes to have his revenge, while also getting Roselli back in firm with the INS. But then Keyes upped the ante, wanting more than that. He'd apparently increased his life insurance policy shortly before arriving in Mexico. While Roselli would still seduce Laura so that he could get back in good with the INS by proving your marriage a fraud, they would also frame you for Keyes murder, then split the money from Keyes insurance policy. You would end up in a Mexican prison, the Agency's reputation would be destroyed, and Keyes would have his revenge against the both of you…"

"Oh my God," Laura whispered. "Is there more?"

"Apparently Roselli tipped off Keyes about what time the three of you would be having dinner one evening, so that Keyes could arrange a confrontation with Steele. Keyes had already informed security at the hotel that he felt his life was in danger, that Steele was planning to kill him. Security would then be prepared to detain him, while Roselli began his plan to seduce you, Laura, keeping you occupied while Keyes arranged to be found 'dead' in your hotel by Steele when he was released. Steele would then be arrested for murder," Murphy told them, giving them the specific details. "I've got to ask. Did all of this actually happen?"

"As far as framing Remington for murder, yes," Laura admitted quietly.

"What did he say to you, Steele, that would make you play into his hands? I may not have given you credit for a lot over the years, but I've never seen you fall for a con before," Murphy pointed out. Remington glanced through the doorway at Laura, then chose not to answer.

"Nothing of any matter," he hedged.

"Remington, I already know. Mildred told me. Go ahead and tell Murph," she assured him. He sighed and swiped at his mouth. It was one thing for her to hear it from Mildred, quite another to hear it coming from him as far as he was concerned.

"He told me he wanted to have a go at Laura. Implied she would be… willing," Remington admitted. Murphy whistled on the other end of the line.

"Can't say I would have reacted any differently if someone were to say that to me about Sher," Murphy commiserated. "Did you deck him? I would have if I were there."

"In a manner of speaking. Unfortunately he landed in a pool about 50 feet below where we were standing."

"Too bad about the pool being there."

"That's what I thought at the time."

"Okay, boys, let's get past the shared male camaraderie over protecting my virtue and get back on track," Laura told them, irritated that both believed she needed protection. "What else, Murph?" Murphy laughed then tried to cover his misstep with a cough while Laura rolled her eyes.

"Keyes reneged on the deal. Told Roselli he'd decided to keep all the money he had gotten from the life insurance policy, figuring it was a fair deal since Roselli had earned his way back into the good graces of the INS by getting the goods on your marriage. Keyes had no idea Roselli was lying about having the proof that your marriage was a fraud, so too late Roselli realized his lie had given Keyes the ammunition he needed to double cross him. Roselli took exception at the double cross, and had Guitierrez again deliver her cousin and envelope full of money with the understanding the Malvados were to keep an eye on Keyes and take him out the first chance they got."

Laura felt a surge of hope that they finally had something concrete on Roselli.

"That's solicitation of murder, it could put Roselli away for life…especially in Mexico. Do we have proof of that Murph?" Laura asked, then held her breath for his answer.

"Only if you consider Guitierrez's signed and notarized statement as proof." She turned and grinned widely at Remington.

"Good job, Murph! I think you just made my day."

"You still have to get the Mexican authorities to agree that we have enough proof, Laura," he reminded her. "And in the meantime Roselli is on the loose out there somewhere, with some fairly potent governmental ties between the INS and MI5. It worries me Laura. You two need to be careful."

"He'll have to get through me to get to Laura, Michaels, I assure you of that," Remington told him firmly. Laura felt a frisson of fear crawl down her spine at his words.

"Take care of her, Steele. I mean that."

"Enough," Laura interrupted. "Laura can take care of herself and both of you need to remember that." Laura's voice softened. "Thanks for this Murph. You've done some amazing work here."

"Anything for you, pal. You know that."

"Hey, Murph. Why don't you, Sherry and the boys stay at the loft when you're in town in November. All the comforts of home and all that…."

"The boys are actually going to stay with my folks this trip, but I think Sherry and I will take you up on that offer. I'll call you once I get the information on what happened with the dishonorable discharge. Stay safe, pal."

"We'll do our best. Bye Murph."

Laura and Remington hung up their phones, then she walked into the bedroom and sat down next to him.

"What are we going to do?" she asked him.

"Not a thing until he makes a move. We have no idea where he is right now. The way I see it, the only thing we can do at the moment is get that statement of Guitierrez's before the Federales push them to file charges. That way when Roselli does show up, we can make sure he doesn't see the light of day again."

"But at least it's something," she smiled.

"IFt is that," he smiled in return, then kissed her. "In the meantime, Mrs. Steele, how about we get breakfast cleaned up and then take a ride up the coast. There is this wonderful little restaurant I know of…."


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 19: Explanations and Revelations

Laura leaned her head against the backseat of the limo and closed her eyes, while one of her hands massaged the point where her neck met her shoulder, trying to relieve some of the tension. The cramps that Remington had massaged away on the couch in his office had returned with a vengeance and now a pounding headache was threatening and it was the last thing she needed tonight, of all nights.

Mildred had booked them appointments every hour on the hour today, and while it had been tempting to tag team the clients – divide and conquer, and all that - she and Remington had chosen to meet each client together, as partners. They'd decided to take on three of the cases, two security jobs and one missing person case, and he'd abruptly ended one interview mid-way through as the man had treated her dismissively merely for being a woman.

"You didn't have to do that, you know," she told him now. "There will always be that client that will never see me as more than a secretary. I've been dealing with it for years. Actually, I enjoy proving them wrong, solving the case, and making them eat their words. A part of me always hopes, afterwards, that they won't trivialize the abilities of the next woman they meet."

"I know you do. I rather thought, in this case, it would be wise to disassociate ourselves with him as quickly as possible, after the comments he made to me when you left the room. I didn't feel you would, er, approve, of my shoving my fist in his mouth."

"What did he say?" Laura asked, laughing.

"After some very graphic comments about certain parts of your anatomy, then inquired if you were as feisty in bed as you are out of it." She laughed again at his snort of disdain accompanied a nose curled in distaste.

"It's not," she pointed out, "the first time either of us has had to deal with a client, or even suspect, making lewd comments about the other."

"Yes, yes. I know," he sighed, tugging at his ear. "And while I could pretend not to be annoyed before, this time, for some reason, all I could think about was him wanting to put his hands where only mine belong," he said then half-laughed, half-sighed in resignation. "Don't worry, I won't let this become a habit."

Glancing over at her, he saw her smile briefly, then continue rubbing at her shoulder. "Come here," he told her, "let me help with that." Steele shifted on the seat, bending one leg up on the seat so he could face sideways, while Laura turned and curled both her legs up on the seat so that he could have access to her back. She sighed as his hands began working their magic and melting the tension away.

"You look lovely tonight," he told her. They had both agreed to dress casually for the dinner ahead and she was wearing one of his favorite casual outfits on her: red pants that showed off her slim waist and amazing bottom, with a white and black checked shirt with red accents. The outfit made her look young and carefree.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, unconsciously flicking her tongue over her lips. Dressed in dark grey jeans that hovered on black, and a black, grey and white checked shirt with accents of red, he had left the shirt untucked…he looked relaxed and sexy as hell. She loved him in his suits, but when he dropped down to casual, her heart would stop. She lifted a hand behind her and stroked his neck.

"And you, Mr. Steele, look so good that on any other day I'd have Fred turn the limo around and take us home so I could show you just how… appetizing… I find you at the moment," she told him. A jolt of electricity shot through him at her words, and his body hardened, responding to thoughts of her doing to him what her words implied.

Fred, hearing the interchange and seeing the look on Remington's face through the rearview mirror discretely flicked a switch and raised the privacy glass, then laughed to himself. Remington's brows raised as he watched the glass close and decided to accept the silent challenge. Glancing at his watch he saw they had at least ten minutes before they would arrive at Frances and Donald's house. Pulling his hands away from her shoulders, he wrapped one arm around her, sliding her across the seat, to lean her back against his chest, while the other hand swept her hair away from one side of her neck so that his lips could graze upon the flesh there.

She sighed and relaxed into his body, her soft moan of pleasure stoking the fire building within him. His hand stroked up her neck, across her jaw, then under her chin, lifting it. His lips found hers, kissing her softly, relishing her taste. When her tongue flicked out to taste his lips, he groaned. Turning her in his arms, he shifted them again until she was lying on the back seat with him on top of her.

"We shouldn't be doing this right now," she whispered in a sing-song voice, putting her hands between them to push him away. Her breath stopped as he began kissing his way down the side of her face, across her jaw, before returning to her lips and instead of pushing him away, her hands acted with a mind of their own, unbuttoning his shirt until it was open and they could skim across his bared chest. She felt his muscles twitch underneath her hands and her lips lifted in a smile.

"Laura," he exhaled her name, as his mouth broke from hers. His lips moved to the column of her throat, his tongue flicking out to taste her, as his hands moved between them and he pulled her shirt from her pants, before unbuttoning it and laying it open. He nearly groaned in relief when he realized she was wearing a front clasp bra. Releasing the clasp, his hand reached up and cupped her breast, his mouth hungrily claiming the nipple and pulling. She cried out softly, arching against him, running her hands up into his hair, encouraging him to continue.

With a quiet chuckle, he reached up and placed a finger on her lips. Catching her eyes, he flicked his eyes towards the front seat, reminding her that Fred was nearby. Glancing again at his watch, he dropped his head down and began lathing her other breast with the same attention as the first. Her hands swept under his arms and began feathering their way down his back, suddenly plunging under the waist of his pants to find the bare skin of his enticing bottom. Grasping a cheek in each hand, she pulled his hips against her, raising her own to grind against him. He groaned lowly, and moved his head to seize her mouth with his own, as his hands swept across her breasts one last time, before reaching up and reclasping her bra, and pulling away from her, breathing heavily.

Offering her a hand, he helped her sit up. "We'll be there in about three minutes," he told her, still panting. "We better pull ourselves together before it is far too obvious to everyone how we've been passing time," he grinned at her.

She blushed furiously and began quickly buttoning back up her shirt. When the limo stopped in front of the Piper house, both had straightened their clothes and done what they could with their hair, although both remained somewhat tousled. When Fred opened the door for them, Remington stepped out then with his normal aplomb offered Laura a hand as she exited the car.

He turned to her, taking both of his hands in hers and squeezing. "Ready, love?"

She squeezed his hand in return, then smiling ruefully replied "No, but that doesn't matter. We're here."

He nodded, and they turned and walked up the path to the Piper home, hand in hand.

Donald swung the door open, then extended a hand so they could enter the foyer.

"Remington, welcome," Donald greeted him warmly, offering him a hand. The two men shook.

"Good to see you again, Donald."

Turning to Laura, he grabbed her shoulders, and drawing her close kissed her check. "Always wonderful to see my favorite sister-in-law, Laura," he told her, then dropped his voice and whispered next to her ear, "You're buttoned crooked."

She looked down and flushed, then turned away. Yanking her shirt out of her pants she rebuttoned it before tucking it back in, as the two men exchanged pleasantries. Once righted she turned back around, and mouthed "thank you" to Donald.

"So, how bad is it?" she asked.

"It could be a rough night," Donald acknowledged.

She sighed. "Okay, let's get this over with."

Remington grabbed Laura's hand in his again as they walked together towards the living room. She squeezed his hand, letting him know she was grateful for his support. When they walked into the room, Frances and Abigail stopped talking and turned to look at the couple. The tension was relieved when Danny, Mindy and Laurie Beth yelled out "Mr. Steele!" and ran up to greet him.

Remington mussed Danny's hair, and pulled Mindy to his side for a quick hug, then swung a waiting Laurie Beth up into his arms, propping her on his hip. The little girl wrapped her arms around his neck and asked "Are we going to play horsey again?"

He laughed and patted her bottom. "In a little bit," he promised. "But first Auntie Laura and I have to have a talk with your Mother and Grandmother."

"Kids, go play. I'll call you when dinner is ready," Frances instructed the children. "The adults need to have their privacy for a little while."

Once the kids had scampered from the room, Laura walked over to Abigail and leaned down to kiss her cheek, "Good evening, Mother," she greeted her, falling into her lifelong habit of being stiff and overly formal with her. She then turned and nodded at Frances, before crossing the room to sit in the wing chair across from the other two women. Remington followed behind, kissing both Frances and Abigail on the cheek and greeting them, prior to taking a seat on the arm of Laura's chair and putting a protective arm around her shoulders.

The living room fell dead silent, the hum of the air conditioner the only sound and remained that way for several minutes. Finally, Abigail spoke.

"Laura, are you pregnant?" Laura's eyes widened and her jaw went slack. Remington's eyes flicked to Abigail then fell on his wife, giving her a gentle squeeze.

"What? Huh? Mother, _no,"_ Laura nearly shouted out, drawing out the no she was so shocked by the question. "Why would you even ask that?"

"Well, I've been racking my brains for weeks trying to figure out why you, of all people, suddenly decided to jump into marriage. And then to avoid my phone calls for weeks on end. The only logical conclusion was that you and your boss must have had a fling and you found yourself in trouble."

"I'm _not_ pregnant, Mother," Laura repeated again.

"Then how could you, Laura? How could you run off and get married and not even tell your family, let alone invite them? I've never been so mortified in my life. Imagine, my friends calling to congratulate me on your marriage and my not even knowing. I know we've had our problems, but I would never have believed you capable of this! You've embarrassed your entire family. I thought I raised you better than this, apparently I was wrong."

Frances cringed visibly at Abigail's accusations. She and Laura had grown much closer the last couple of years, and she didn't enjoy seeing the tongue lashing her little sister was taking from their mother. It had never occurred to her, personally, that the only reason Laura would have married Mr. Steele was because she was pregnant.

"Mother, honestly, I don't think you're being fair…" Frances told her, trying to intercede.

"Stay out of this, Frances. You've been just as upset as I. Laura owes us an explanation. Her behavior has been selfish and irresponsible," she told Frances before turning back to Laura. "I don't even know why I'm surprised. You have always been reckless, impulsive and have never considered how your behavior reflects upon your family. I have spent years making excuses for the choices you've made…" Remington watched as his wife withered under the words, each comment a direct hit at the confidence, in herself, in them, that she'd been diligently building and holding on to.

"Enough," he told Abigail quietly, but firmly. "Laura is not to blame here, Abigail. I am. If you wish to express your hostilities, I would appreciate it if you would direct your ire towards the appropriate target. If you would like explanations to be made, I would be happy to do that for you as well. I will _not_ , however, sit by while you unfairly attack her."

Abigail appeared at a loss for words for a moment, then found her footing again. "I've apparently given you far too much credit, Mr. Steele. All these years I've believed that you and your expectations of Laura were the reason that she'd become more responsible, less wild, less impulsive. Daniel, while we were together, spoke often of your respect for my daughter. Yet, you apparently engage in an illicit affair with one of your employees then try to make up for your improprieties by hustling her into a hasty wedding. Why? To save face with your clients? Clearly you have no respect for my daughter…"

"Mother, how could you?" Laura demanded to know. "You know nothing about Remington and I. Nothing. How dare you?" She stood and turned to him, "I've had enough. I'm leaving." Grabbing her purse from the floor by her feet, she stood and walked briskly towards the front door.

"Laura, wait," he called, then jumped up to go after her. He caught her by the arm as she slung open the door. "Laura, wait. Just wait." He closed the door, then took her by both of her hands. "Running is not going to help anything. She's angry and saying things she doesn't mean…"

"That's just it, she means everything she's saying," Laura interrupted. "All my life it's all I've hear from her: 'Why can't you be more like your sister, Laura. Why can't you act more like a lady, Laura? Why can't you be more gracious? Why can't you pick a career that is meant for a young woman, Laura?' I've never been able to do anything right in her eyes."

"She deserves an explanation, Laura. We did, in fact, have a hasty wedding. We did, in fact, not tell your family. She's your mother, and feels that you shut her out of your life. She's hurt…"

"Illicit affair? Improprieties? If only she knew…" she huffed.

"Which she won't, unless she knows the whole of it." He let go of one of her hands, to cup her cheek with his hand, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "Let's go get this over with, alright love?"

She blew out the breath that she had been holding, frustrated, but knowing he was right. "I can't make any promises that I'll stay." He nodded, then took her hand in his and led her back into the living room, continuing to hold tight as they both sat down in their original spots.

Donald stepped forward. "Before we start again, I'd just like to say, Abigail, that while it's okay that you're disappointed that you missed Laura's wedding, you've made some gross mischaracterizations in the last few minutes. I don't know why they eloped, but I will tell you it wasn't due to some tawdry affair. To the best of my knowledge, they've been involved at least two and a half years, maybe even longer."

"They have?" Frances asked, incredulously. Frances turned to Laura, with a hurt look on her face. "I thought we'd grown closer since I moved here, Laura. I can't believe you would tell Donald and not your own sister."

"They never told me anything, Frannie. All you had to do was pay attention and you would have seen the way Steele has looked at Laura from the first day we met him and you would've known. Heck, they were kissing down in the living room while you and I were up in her room doing the same. And you call yourself a hopeless romantic," Donald laughed.

"Laura? Is that true?" Frances asked her sister.

Laura averted her eyes, still too stung by her mother's words to engage in conversation, and simply nodded briskly.

"Donald's not far off the mark," Remington supplied to Frances, while stroking the palm of Laura's hand with his thumb, "Four years, getting ready to go on five now. And we've never had an affair, tawdry, illicit or otherwise, Abigail. Your daughter demanded very high standards of our relationship, and not that it is of any of your business, but we did not consummate our relationship until _after_ we were married. You were out of line with the things you said to her, asked her and owe her an apology." Abigail watched as a blush climbed her daughter's skin at her husband's words.

"Is that true, Laura?" Abigail asked. Laura, eyes still averted gave a terse nod. "I'm sorry, Laura," Abigail apologized. "But you still owe me an explanation for why you eloped and allowed us all to be humiliated."

"Now mother, I was not humiliated. I thought it was kind of romantic. I was just upset that Laura didn't invite us, or tell us," Frances interjected.

"I'm waiting," Abigail demanded, ignoring Frances's comment.

Laura closed her eyes, then ground out, "We didn't invite _anyone_ to the wedding. It was… spontaneous. Only Mildred was there."

"So you could invite your secretary and not your own family?" Abigail retorted. "Really Laura, the level of disrespect you have shown all of us…"

"Abigail, I won't have you going after Laura again," Remington interrupted her calmly, the twitch in his jaw belying his irritation. "The truth of the matter is no one was invited because Laura only agreed to elope with me to prevent the INS from deporting me. We had two hours to put together blood tests, a marriage license and to make it out past the three-mile limit before we said our vows, or I would have been permanently kicked out of the country."

"So you only asked Laura to marry you to keep from getting deported. Am I understanding you correctly?" Abigail's hand fluttered to her chest, imagining her shame if her friends ever became aware of such a tawdry detail.

"He didn't ask me to marry him, Mother," Laura ground out, finally entering into the conversation. "He wouldn't. I volunteered, because I couldn't stand the thought of not having him here with me every day."

"How romantic," Frances crooned.

"So, it's a marriage of convenience? Now I've heard it all," Abigail said, her voice tinged with disgust. "Thankfully I wasn't there to see this farce. My daughter deserved better by you, Mr. Steele."

Remington closed his eyes and nodded. "She did." Opening his eyes, he looked at Abigail and told her, heart on his sleeve, "But I did it anyway, because the thought of being without her was more than I could stand."

"Do you love my daughter, Mr. Steele?"

"I do. With all that I am," he answered her. Turning away from Abigail, he faced Laura and waited until her eyes met his. "Which is why I married her again."

Abigail sat back in her chair speechless while Frances crooned again, "Oh my, how romantic."

Donald burst out laughing. "This is great."

"Well don't keep us waiting, Laura," Frances begged. "When did you get married again? Where? How have we not heard anything about it?"

Laura smiled at her sister. "Five days ago at his family's home in Greece."

"Oh my…."

"I know," Laura laughed, "How romantic. It was amazing. I'll never forget a moment of it."

She stood up, then turned into Steele's arms as he continued to sit on the arm of the chair. Oblivious to the others in the room, she caught her eyes with his and held them there, as she reached up and ran a hand along the side of his face, then leaned in to kiss him softly, before putting her arms around his neck and hugging him.

"For better or worse," she whispered next to his ear, her breathe feathering across it. "Unfortunately for you, my family is, on days, part of that worse." He laughed softly.

"Our family," he answered just as quietly. "Warts and all, I took them on as well when we married, love." He touched her lips to hers and simply held them there as her hand grasped the back of his shoulders and held him tight to her.

"Eh hem," Donald cleared his throat, reminding them others were in the room. Laura spun on her heels, blushing again, as Remington put an arm around her waist and hauled her back to him, so that she too was sitting on the arm of the chair. "Keep that up, you two, and you're gonna put me in the doghouse with Frannie."

Donald walked over to them. He leaned over to kiss Laura on the cheek, then reached out and clasped Remington's hand in his before smacking him on the upper arm. "Congratulations you two."

Frances jumped up from her chair and ran over to the two of them, putting her arms around both. "I can't believe my baby sister finally got married!" Grabbing Laura's hand, she pulled her over to the couch. "I just have to see your rings. I can't believe this. It's just so romantic. Imagine getting married in Greece. Do you have any pictures Laura?"

Laura laughed at her sister talking a mile a minute in her excitement. "Yes, I do. They're in my purse."

Abigail had remained silent throughout this period, simply watching Laura and Remington. Standing, she walked over to her new son-in-law.

"I owe you an apology," she told him.

"Nonsense. In fact, I owe you an apology for not moving heaven and earth so you could be at your daughter's wedding, Abigail."

"I've always liked you, from the first day I met you," she told him, patting him on a cheek. "I could see you'd changed something in Laura. I just didn't know what that was until today."

He leaned over and kissed Abigail's cheek. "Your daughter changed my life, you will never know how much." He grew pensive, before speaking again. "Abigail, there's something else I think you should know. It's about Daniel."

"How is he doing?" She asked, her eyes crinkling in a fond smile. "We haven't spoken in several weeks which is odd as he generally rings me up once a week or so. Did you and Laura have a chance to spend some time with him while you were on the Continent? He does miss you so." He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, uncomfortable with imparting the news to his father's former paramour and still friend.

"Daniel died last week, Abigail. It's part of the reason Laura and I were abroad so long."

Abigail's hand fluttered up to her chest while her eyes moistened with tears. "What? How? Are you okay?"

"It was a long illness that he kept from everyone. We were able to spend quite a bit of time together before he was gone. I'm thankful for that…and that Laura was there with me." Glancing at Laura, sitting on the couch laughing with Frances as they looked at the wedding pictures, he excused himself from Abigail. "I think I'll go join my wife."

Abigail nodded, nearly at a loss for words in wake of the news about Daniel. "I could use a few minutes to myself. I'll go get dinner on the table."

He walked over to the couch where Laura was sitting with Frances and nudged her on the hip. Laura scooted forward a little and he sat behind her, leaning his chin on her shoulder as he looked over it at the pictures she was showing.

"Oh, my Laura," Frances crooned over a picture of Laura walking down the aisle, "Your dress it was just, just…"

"Nearly as stunning as the woman wearing it," he supplied. Laura smiled broadly and reached up to touch her fingers to his cheek before nuzzling her cheek against his.

The kids came bounding back into the room.

"Grandma said you're all done talking now," Danny said excitedly. "Mr. Steele can you show me that card trick now? You promised the last time you were over!"

"But I need Mr. Steele to show me how to make the leaves on a tree look right. He promised me too," Mindy argued with Danny.

Laurie Beth pulled on Remington's sleeve. He shifted and hauled her up on his lap to sit between he and Laura. Twining her little arms around his neck, she asked "Can I have my horsey ride now?'

"After dinner kids, if he has time," Donald told them emphasizing the after. "He and Aunt Laura are showing us their wedding pictures right now."

Danny gawked at Remington. "You married Aunt Laura?"

He laughed then nodded, before replying, "A couple of times as a matter of fact."

"Holy Pete. That means you're our Uncle now, right?"

He cocked his head. It had never really occurred to him that their marriage would change the dynamics of more than just what he and Laura were to each other. "Seems so," he smiled.

"Holy Pete," Danny said again.

Remington laughed. "I agree Danny, Holy Pete."

He sat there next to Laura, Laurie Beth snuggled up on his lap and absorbed the room around him. He, who had never had a family, suddenly was surrounded by a brother and sister-in-law, nieces and a nephew, while his mother-in-law finished putting dinner on the table. Most importantly, next to his side was Laura, joyfully sharing pictures and stories of their wedding in Greece with Frances.

Laura, his wife, his everything: The best part of his past, the most important part of his present and the key person in all his dreams for the future. Looking down at her, he couldn't help wonder just what that future held in store for them, and smiled.

* * *

The Steele's settled into marriage over the upcoming months. That was not to say all ran smoothly, for certainly with two stubborn people often haunted by a past that taught them lessons that were hard to relinquish, insecurities and uncertainties would rear their ugly heads from time-to-time. Yet, as weeks turned into months, they fell into a comfortable life, one in which they savored their time together but also learned the value of individual pursuits. Laura took on another triathlon, bettering her time from the spring prior, and began considering a half-marathon. She took the time she needed to train, yet unlike the spring prior, not at the cost of them. Remington resumed his fencing sessions, bi-weekly poker games with Monroe, and monthly polo matches with the same. Together the couple would once weekly play hooky from work for a few hours to go catch a matinee. Remington made it a point to sneak in cotton candy so they could share sweet kisses in the dark.

They double dated often with Jocelyn and Monroe, but for the most part found they looked forward to their nights home alone where he would cook, they would clean up after the meal together then lie before the fire and talk, or curl up on the couch to watch a movie… or to his chagrin, which he managed to gracefully conceal, at least most of the time, _Atomic Man_ , _The Fugitive or Perry Mason,_ all of which he'd bought for her on video tape amongst much teeth grinding.

While Saturday's had become weekly chores in the morning and the afternoons a whim and will time of day – they went wherever their whim took them – on Sunday morning's they developed a tradition for them and them alone: Sleeping in, making love lazily throughout the morning, followed by breakfast prepared by Remington. They unplugged the phone, disconnecting themselves from the world around them. Some Sunday's might see them lounging on the grass in a park having a leisurely picnic or lying on a beach while he gleefully rubbed lotion into her skin, remembering the days not too long before where such a thing never would have happened. Or, he found to his delight, there were those Sundays when Laura would drag him back to bed and spend a glorious afternoon making his body give up new secrets to her probing fingers and mouth.

Every other Sunday afternoon would find them at the Piper house, something that had become a tradition in its own right. Uncle Remington would find himself swarmed by Danny, Mindy and Laurie Beth as they adored their new uncle who could not only teach them magic tricks and how to paint and draw, but who thought nothing about getting down on the ground to wrestle, give horsey rides, or color side-by-side in a coloring book with the youngest Piper.

Laura had caught him often during those visits, sitting with Laurie Beth on his lap as he stroked her hair and listened intently to her stories, while his gaze focused on Laura's stomach, a hopeful look upon his face. She was grateful that he had yet to address the topic about having a baby head on, but knew that the day would soon arrive. He seemed to know that, like everything else she did, it would take her time to consider both sides of the equation before arriving at the answer. Yet, as time moved on, Laura would often find herself, when he looked at her with that hope in his eyes, touching her stomach softly, wondering what it would feel like to have his child growing inside of her. Eventually the question of "if they would have a baby" had become "when they had a baby" in her thoughts. She never doubted for a moment that he would be an amazing father and had begun to believe, as she grew closer to her nieces and nephews, that she would likely be a good mother.

Remington would watch, captivated, when Laura's hand would reach out to touch her stomach under his stare. He knew her better than he knew himself and her motion was as telling as any words she could speak. He knew, without ever having to ask, that "someday" had at some point become "sooner than later."


	21. Chapter 21

Epilogue

Laura stood in the kitchen with her back tucked into the corner created by two of the counters meeting, nursing a scotch and water over ice. She heard when the front door closed and Remington called out to her. She stayed where she was, sipping her drink, never calling out to him, knowing he would find her eventually. Sure enough, he poked his head into the kitchen, his eyebrow quirking upwards at seeing the drink in her hand. He could count on one hand the number of times she had imbibed without his company.

"There you are, love. Didn't you hear me calling for you?" he smiled as he leaned down to kiss her hello, only to find himself planting his lips in her hair as she turned her head to avoid him.

Her intentional evasion of his kiss left him flummoxed and, he found, surprisingly irritated. He had thought the days of her intentionally disengaging from him for some imagined – alright, occasionally real – misstep were in the past. He took two steps back from her and leaned casually against the island, shoving his hands in his pockets. His sharp eyes perused her face and body, summing up what he read there. He sighed briefly when he found her skin pinked, her shoulders taunt and her eyes avoiding his own – all sure signs that she was about to blow. He didn't have long to wait, as she slammed her glass of scotch on the counter then turned to stalk indignantly from the kitchen. He followed, grabbing her upper arm just as they entered the living room. She turned to face him, and he saw the stark hurt in her eyes before she covered it an instant later with a blank look, shutting him out even as he reeled in confusion.

"Laura, what's going on? What's this all about?" He watched as her walls went up even further and her chin tipped upwards in that way she had when she was determined to hide from him. Her eyes held with his, and seeing the confusion reflected in their blue depths, her shoulders slumped before she looked away with a small shake of her head.

"Isn't that the question I should be asking you?" she asked, suddenly weary. She easily shook her arm away from his grip, and walked several steps away before wrapping her arms around herself, seeking self-comfort. His heart ached at the sight and the words that followed. "You come home in the middle of the night, then sit out here," she tilted her head towards the couch, "thinking I don't know you're home. Then last night when you finally came to bed, you could barely touch me. You've been shutting me out for days…" her voice trailed off.

"Laura…" It was the only word he could manage before he stopped speaking, swiping his hand across his face and averting his eyes from her as the now all too familiar feelings of guilt and desolation assailed him. He could only watch as she picked several pieces of paper up off of the coffee table before she returned to him, handing them to him.

"And then there's these…"

Remington looked down at the papers she handed him. Photographs. He skimmed through them quickly, appalled by what he saw.

Him dancing with Astrid at White Oak Country Club.

Him kissing Astrid in front of her home.

Astrid, her hands roaming across his bottom, her lips firmly attached to his neck.

His hands tremored slightly at the sight of his guilt memorialized in black and white, right there in front of him. He lifted sad, guilt ridden eyes to her.

"Laura…" The single word held a plea for understanding. With a shake of her head, she sank, exhausted, down onto the couch behind her. She looked up at him, her walls shattered, her brown eyes reflecting a hurt so deep that it nearly staggered him.

"I think we need to talk, Remington."

(TBC)


End file.
